


King of Pentacles

by manic_intent



Series: Minor Arcana [2]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Dealing with the Yakuza, Full spoilers, M/M, NOTE: MOST OF THIS FIC WILL BE T RATED, That Postcanon fic that follows on from what Iwai does as part of the game's epilogue, and other unfortunate stories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-10-25 18:55:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 31,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10770339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manic_intent/pseuds/manic_intent
Summary: Warm fingers caught Akira’s wrists as he flinched and hauled him forward, out of sight of the main street. Iwai scowled at him, the lollipop stick in his mouth twisting to the corner. “Tch. What are you doin’ here?”“How did you know I was there?” Akira countered. Even in a dank, dim alley, Iwai commanded Akira’s attention like little else could: he was unselfconsciously handsome, though that wasn’t what had drawn Akira’s eye the first time—it was the danger Iwai wore, without even meaning to. Even his forbidding scowl just felt like another challenge.“I heard that noisy cat of yours.” Iwai let him go. “Aren’t you too young for this part of town?”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Full spoilers for the game. 
> 
> I only meant to write another one shot, following the Shinjuku mention in my previous story, and this somehow... ballooned into a multi-chapter...? =_=

20xx 10/10

“You said you needed to talk?” Akira asked, as he settled down on the uneven stool before Chihaya’s fold-out table.

She nodded earnestly. The years had passed Chihaya kindly: she was as sweet-faced as ever, her thick hazel hair bound today in a purple scarf, and she was squirming, nervous. “Eh…” Chihaya took in a deep breath, steeling herself. “If you’re in trouble you can just tell me, Akira-kun!” 

Akira blinked. In his bag, tucked against his shoulder, Morgana twitched in surprise. “Uhm…” 

“You can’t hide from the cards,” Chihaya said fiercely. “I did a reading for you this afternoon! I saw everything!”

Akira scratched his temple, openly puzzled. “Saw what? This afternoon I was in a lecture.” 

“The cards are clear.” Chihaya began drawing cards from her deck again, in quick succession. “Look. The Trickster. The Hanged Man.” She started to name others, all minor Arcana, but Akira was struck by the Hanged Man’s card. The traitor, dangling by a foot. “Akira-kun! Are you listening?” 

“Yes?” Akira stared at her, still bemused. “I’m not in trouble.” 

“Maybe not yet,” Chihaya conceded, frowning. “But I can change it. I know I can. You don’t have to go to the Red Room.” 

“What room?” Akira was even more bewildered now. The Velvet Room? It had been closed to him since the Grail, though he sometimes still saw a flicker of it, in the corner of Shibuya, or at a side street in Shinjuku. Most days now, it stood faded, a bluish glimmer that reminded him of more interesting times.

“It’s converging.” Chihaya was drawing cards more quickly, turning some face up, removing others. The Hanged Man flashed by again, and Chihaya frowned. This wasn’t like any reading Akira had seen from Chihaya before. She was pushing for something, a fish struggling upstream. “The choices are coming. No… have I been a part of Fate?” She abruptly shuffled all the cards together, flushing. “You have to go home.”

“What? Now?”

“Right now. Promise me.” 

“All right, all right,” Akira said soothingly. “I’ll go home.” 

“I’ll walk you to the station,” Chihaya said, determined, just as a lady in a gray pantsuit approached shyly. 

“Chihaya-sama… if I could have a moment of your time?” 

“Mio-san,” Chihaya greeted the lady with surprise. “Oh… I was just about to close up.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Akira said hastily, when Mio looked instantly crestfallen. “I can walk back myself.” 

Chihaya hesitated, but sighed when Mio took Akira’s seat at the table. “All… all right. But y’go straight home, ya?” Her country dialect was slipping out, buoyed by nervousness.

“Going,” Akira told her lightly, but only got an unhappy frown in response. Out on the main street, Morgana squirmed out from his bag, poking out his head. 

“What do you think Chihaya meant?”

“Something caught fire at home?” Akira wasn’t entirely concerned. “I’ll be unlucky in love today?” 

Morgana prodded him in the neck with a paw. “Chihaya’s readings are almost never wrong. Pay attention.” 

“Hai, hai. I’m going home,” Akira assured him, just as someone in a familiar gray coat ducked into a side street ahead of them, darting through the crowds. “Isn’t that…?” 

“Akira!” Morgana hissed. “Home!”

“I know.” Akira hesitated at the side street anyway, peering down the narrow alley. Nothing but a side entrance to a sake bar and some back exits. If that had been Iwai, he was out of sight. “Hmm.”

“I know that sound,” Morgana groused, his claws digging into Akira’s shoulder as Akira walked quietly down the alley. The sake bar looked undisturbed, like the other doors. 

“Just taking a look.” 

“‘Just taking a look?’” Morgana complained, as Akira wandered over to the forked junction at the end of the alley, “Chihaya told you to _eep!_ ” 

Warm fingers caught Akira’s wrists as he flinched and hauled him forward, out of sight of the main street. Iwai scowled at him, the lollipop stick in his mouth twisting to the corner. “Tch. What are you doin’ here?” 

“How did you know I was there?” Akira countered. Even in a dank, dim alley, Iwai commanded Akira’s attention like little else could: he was unselfconsciously handsome, though that wasn’t what had drawn Akira’s eye the first time—it was the danger Iwai wore, without even meaning to. Even his forbidding scowl just felt like another challenge. 

“I heard that noisy cat of yours.” Iwai let him go. “Aren’t you too young for this part of town?” 

Akira scowled, despite knowing that he was being baited. “Just seeing a friend. She wanted to warn me about some trouble.” This must have been what Chihaya had seen. 

“What trouble?” Iwai asked, concerned. “The hell are you up to now?” 

“She said I didn’t have to go to the Red Room,” Akira said, watching Iwai closely, but he merely shook his head in confusion.

“What room?” He exhaled. “Never mind. I don’t have time to help you right now. Get out of here. You head home, yeah? I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Why are you here?” Akira persisted. 

“I’ll tell you tomorrow,” Iwai insisted, his eyes darting glances behind Akira, as though he was wary about something, and Akira had seen Iwai like this before, years ago, whenever they’d had to meet any of Iwai’s ‘acquaintances’. 

“Mune,” Akira lowered his voice. “Are _you_ in trouble?” 

“Yeah, _Mune_ ,” a far-too-familiar voice drawled behind Iwai. “Are you in trouble?” 

“Shit,” Iwai muttered, closing his eyes briefly before he turned around. “Uh, _kumicho_ , hey, he was just gettin’ goin’. One of my customers.” 

“Mune, Mune.” It was the _Cleaner_ , from Shido’s Palace. Morgana ducked hastily back into Akira’s bag even as the Cleaner sauntered over, flanked by two solemn, tall men in suits. The Cleaner himself looked much like what Akira remembered, slouched in a pinstripe suit with a gold chain hung low over his shirt, his hands pushed into his pockets, black hair combed into a widow’s peak, his angular, cruel face crinkled into a mirthless smirk. “Give me some credit. I know this kid.” 

How…? Akira had only met the Cleaner’s shadow, not… No doubt seeing the surprise on his face, the Cleaner sniffed. “Come on, kid. You were the star witness at the big-ass trial years back. Watchin’ one of my big cash cows get quartered up in Court sure was somethin’. Phantom Thief, huh?” 

Akira turned his head, very slightly. In his peripheral vision, he could see another suited guy standing in the mouth of the alley, hands behind his back. Not great odds. Well then. “What about it?” 

“Kid,” Iwai hissed, but the Cleaner merely laughed. 

“Heh! Kid has balls. Guess that was obvious. Well. This makes things easier. C’mon then. Both of you.” 

“ _Kumicho_ ,” Iwai said quickly, very nearly pleadingly. “He’s just a kid.” 

“If you believe that, you’re really goin’ soft. Move.” 

Akira fell into step. Iwai was far more nervous than he was, though he was trying not to show it, and he avoided eye contact, hands jammed into his coat. They didn’t go far—just down into another alley, then into a side door and up a narrow set of stairs. Somewhere beneath, there was a heavy pulse of music that shook the walls and the concrete steps in an uneven heartbeat. They went up two fluorescent-lit floors to another door, a heavier one with a security grate. The Cleaner knocked, waited as someone slid the grate across to glance through, then the door was hastily opened. 

The Cleaner marched them through a narrow corridor that fed between occasional closed doors, until they reached one at the end that a guard opened for them. It was a cubical, windowless room with two doors. Couches lined most of the walls, and there was a low glass table, bolted to the floor. The Cleaner settled in one corner and waved them to a seat, then gestured at the guards, one of whom left the room. The whole cube was lit in a dull red light. 

Beside him, Iwai stiffened, narrowing his eyes before he sat, grudgingly. Akira tried to make a show of indifference as he took a seat beside Iwai, tucking his bag beside him. “You old enough to drink?” the Cleaner asked Akira. At his cautious nod, the Cleaner clapped his hands. “Hey! Bring us some _shōchū_. You drink _shōchū_?” 

“ _Kumicho_ ,” Iwai began cautiously, only to flinch as the Cleaner slapped his palm on the glass table. 

“Shut up. You think I sat on the favour you owe me for so many years ‘cos I forgot about it? I was just waitin’ for this boy to come back to Tokyo. Knew I’d get to call it in then.” 

“I’ve been back in Tokyo for a while,” Akira said mildly. “And if your business is with me then maybe Iwai-san doesn’t have to be here.” 

Iwai glared at him, even as the Cleaner snorted. “Heh. You got no fear, kid. I like that.” The _shōchū_ arrived, brought in by a tall, dolled up waitress in black silk, and she knelt as she poured out three cups before retreating. It burned on the way down, and Akira felt a little light-headed as the Cleaner poured them another cup each. “So. Business. Four years ago, you… took a look in Shido’s head, yeah?” 

“Not exactly,” Akira hedged. “It’s not mind-reading.” 

“This changin’ hearts thing, it worked?” At Akira’s nod, the Cleaner grimaced, scratching at his jaw. “Still works?” 

“No.” 

“Why’s that?”

“Four years ago, did you see something… strange… happen to Tokyo? After Shido’s change of heart?” The Cleaner narrowed his eyes slightly, and Akira continued, “When we fixed that, we had to unmake everything. The process we went through to change hearts no longer exists.” 

“…Can’t say I understood that,” the Cleaner said thoughtfully. “Thing is, kid. You know what _kumicho_ means?” 

“You’re the boss of a yakuza organisation.” 

“That’s right.” The Cleaner looked at him appraisingly. “And I don’t make that widely known. So it’s interestin’ how you look at me like you’ve seen me before.” 

“You were in Shido’s head,” Akira conceded. “A Shadow of you was.” 

“Huh. D’you know my name?”

Iwai was growing very tense, but Akira said blandly, “No. Shido was very careful about anonymity, even in his Palace. No names.”

“Good, good.” The Cleaner sounded amused. “Right.” He waved at a guard, who nodded and left the room. “I wanna show you somethin’, kid. Y’see. I came up this family as a… hrm, we call ‘em ‘sweepers’. Fixers. We clean up problems for the family. Situations, areas, people. Y’get me?”

Akira nodded cautiously. “I think so.” 

“Fact is, Mune over here was a sweeper once. Pretty good one too.” The Cleaner grinned slyly at Iwai. 

“Thanks. Boss.” Iwai muttered, avoiding Akira’s eyes. 

“But he got a kid and lost his taste for the business. Nothin’ wrong with that. Happens to everyone, for different reasons. I let it lie, ‘cos I got a soft spot for sweepers. I know what it’s like, yeah? So they want out, I let them. As long as they follow the code and keep their trap shut. Y’get that?”

Akira nodded again. “Sounds fair.” 

“Our current sweeper’s pretty good himself. Ain’t as good as I was in my day. Or Mune in his. Called himself Salamander. Heard of him, kid?”

“Can’t say I have.” 

The Cleaner stared at Akira keenly, then he grunted. “Yeah. Looks like you’re not lyin’.” He glanced over at the door, and the closest guard opened it. 

A man was frogmarched into the room, cringing and pale, his cheeks streaked with tears. He was in his late thirties, maybe, with hair buzzed down to his scalp, skin pockmarked over his left cheek. His shirt was soaked through with sweat, and he stank of unwashed skin. The moment the guard behind him let go of his shoulder, he sank to his knees, burying his head in his hands. “Sorry,” he mumbled shakily. “Oh God, what have I done? Sorry… sorry…” 

“Happened this mornin’,” the Cleaner said shortly. “He was fine only last night. Now he’s been wailin’ about wantin’ to come clean, start over, all that shit. So,” the Cleaner told Akira pleasantly, just as a guard levelled a pistol at Iwai’s head, “what d’you think his problem is, Mister Phantom Thief?” 

“Hey, hey,” Iwai said, staring at the gun, wide-eyed. 

A real gun. Akira sucked in a high breath, frozen. “C’mon then, kid,” the Cleaner gestured impatiently at the kneeling man. “Inspect him.” 

It was Morgana who saved him, wriggling out of his bag. “Akira! Get up!” 

“A cat?” The Cleaner looked surprised. 

“Ah… he’s a… pet?” Akira said quickly. “Cats are very sensitive creatures. They can sense disturbances in the universe.” 

“What kind of stupid explanation is that?” Morgana growled, exasperated. Thankfully, the ex-Thieves were still the only people who understood Morgana.

“Sounds reasonable,” the Cleaner decided.

“Eeh? It worked?!” 

Morgana yelped as Akira hastily scooped him up, and they approached the man curiously. “What’s his name?” Akira asked. “His actual one?”

“Yoshiha Yamamoto.” 

Trying not to look at Iwai, Akira held Morgana up to Yoshiha’s eye level. “Did anyone search his rooms? His phone and computer? To see if he got a calling card?” 

“Thought about that.” The Cleaner drew a blue square from inside his jacket, and tossed it over. The card read: 

_Yoshiha Yamamoto. You are accused of crimes against the people of Japan: extortion, drugs trafficking, human trafficking, assault, blackmail and murder. You will confess your crimes and atone for your sins._

And the _logo_ … “Isn’t that…?” Morgana struggled out of Akira’s grip and climbed up to his shoulder, peering at the card. 

“Can I keep this?” Akira asked the Cleaner. “I need to get a friend to look at it.” 

“Sure. Whaddya think?” 

“Do you really need to keep that gun pointed at Iwai-san?” Akira shot back evenly. 

“Hn.” The Cleaner smirked. He leaned forward, hands clasped over his knees, and the sound of the guard cocking the gun was loud in the sudden silence in the room. “All right, kid. I’m done playin’ nice. Talk.”

“It looks like a change of heart. But I need to look into it. It shouldn’t be possible.” Akira kept his tone as neutral and as steady as he could. 

“Yeah?” The Cleaner grunted. “Right. You’ve got two weeks. I wanna know who did this. Cough up the name within that time, and we’re good. You won’t ever see me again, and count yourself lucky. But if you don’t… or worse, if _I_ see a fuckin’ callin’ card addressed to myself?” The Cleaner smiled unevenly, teeth bared. “I’ll let Mune tell you what we do to people we don’t like.”

#

“You have strange friends,” Akira said lightly, once they were back in the main street in Shinjuku.

“Your place,” Iwai said flatly, and was quiet all the way to LeBlanc, not even checking his phone. Sojiro had already locked up for the day, and Akira had to let them in, turning on the lights. 

“Welcome.” Akira tried playfulness, then yelped as Iwai hauled him close, hugging him tightly, burying his mouth against Akira’s neck. Morgana squeaked, wriggling out of the bag and darting behind the counter. “Hey,” Akira patted Iwai’s back uncertainly. “It’s okay.”

“No it’s fuckin’ not,” Iwai growled, muffled. “The fuck did you have to get drawn into my business for?” 

“He wanted to talk to me. He would’ve done that sooner or later. With or without your help. What favour did you owe him?” 

“I asked people in the… family for a favour,” Iwai muttered. “When you were in lock up. Wanted to make sure there wasn’t any trouble. Things like that. _Kumicho_ found out. Decided the debt was his.” 

“So it’s mine to pay anyway.” Akira nudged over, nuzzling Iwai’s jaw, the rough stubble, kissing his cheek when Iwai twitched away from a kiss. “I’ll handle it.” 

“I think you don’t understand how much shit you’re in,” Iwai shot back, though he allowed the next kiss, his lips sealed shut, stiff until Akira squeezed his shoulders and pressed closer. Then Iwai took the lollipop from his mouth and kissed back, walking them until he propped Akira against the bar, and normally he was a demanding kisser, but today he was rougher, bruising. 

“Mune,” Akira breathed between them, and again, until Iwai closed his eyes, shuddering. 

“Fuck,” Iwai muttered. “Fuck. My past catchin’ up to Kaoru was bad enough. But you? I didn’t want somethin’ like this to happen.” 

“You invited me out to see your yakuza friends before,” Akira reminded him dryly, and Iwai pressed his lips into a thin line. 

“God, don’t remind me. I was fuckin’ selfish back before. Just wanted what I thought was a dumb kid to help me out with—”

“Hey,” Akira cut in. “I didn’t mind then. I don’t mind now. I knew what I was getting into. So. I’ll handle it.” 

“How?” 

“Trust me.”

“Don’t give me that. I got you into this mess. And I’m done sittin’ around waitin’ for you to haul my ass out of the fire.” 

“It’s a nice ass,” Akira said, with mock innocence, and that, finally, got a startled laugh from Iwai, some of his hard tension leeching away. 

“Take this seriously.” 

“I am.” Akira kissed Iwai’s forehead, just under his cap, then his mouth, soft and careful until Iwai relaxed, his hands stroking up and down Akira’s thighs. 

“The ‘red room’, huh.” Iwai said, subdued. “How’d your friend know about that?” 

“She has her ways.” Akira didn’t really want to try and explain what Chihaya did.

Iwai stared at him unhappily. “Look. Before, the shit you got into? I should’ve done more to help. Especially after what you did for me. And for Kaoru. I wished I had, y’know? Even though I don’t know if it’d have made a difference. Especially after you got arrested.” 

“It wouldn’t have helped,” Akira said, as gently as he could. 

“Now, though… I know the Hashiba-gumi. And I knew Yoshiha. I still got contacts. You’re gonna do your own thing no matter what I tell you, I know that. But this is on me, too. So I’m gonna help. And I want you to trust me. Even with the shit that you think I won’t understand. Yeah?” 

“Fine,” Akira conceded, when Iwai set his jaw stubbornly. 

“So,” Iwai said quietly, “you know who wrote that callin’ card, don’t you? I was watchin’ you when you read it.” 

“It’s probably a coincidence.” Akira took the card out from his coat, turning it face up. Over the neatly typed text, a silhouette of a crow crouched, its wings slightly raised, as though about to leap into flight. “It has to be.”


	2. Chapter 2

 

20xx 10/11

Life always had the humbling tendency to roll inexorably on even in the face of yakuza death(?) threats, and as such, Akira went to class, worked on his assignments, and only made it back to LeBlanc during the late afternoon, where he found Futaba already crouched outside, scrolling through something rapidly on her phone. She straightened up when Akira got closer, adjusting her round glasses.

“Yo. You’re late.” Futaba had also come from school: she was wearing her green jacket over her Shujin Academy uniform, the black and red skirt worn high over skinny thighs and black knee socks and boots. Not exactly school regulation, particularly with her brightly dyed orange hair, still worn long, but Shujin hadn’t been a complete stickler for regulation uniform even when Akira had been there. “C’mon. LeBlanc’s too full of plebs and Sojiro’s in a funny mood. Let’s recall to my home base.”

“How’s school?” Akira asked, as they headed towards Futaba’s house.

“Bleh. Too easy. Everything gives grey exp. Other than people. People are still tricky. Having Kana there helps, but not always.”

“Trouble?”

“Pssh. I can handle it. Don’t worry. What’s the point of levelling up if you don’t try red encounters?” Futaba grinned at him. The years had given her confidence, thankfully. She wasn’t quite past all the damage that the Conspiracy had done to her, but she was getting there. Someday. It was a big enough step going to high school, given that when Akira had first met Futaba, years back, she’d still been effectively a shut-in, frightened of everyone. “Mouse tried to stand up to the Mimi Gurls today. Total fail, but I laughed. They pwnt him.”

Time had also inured Akira to Futaba’s language. “Kaoru doesn’t like you calling him ‘Mouse’.”

“Whatever. Hey,” Futaba said, as she unlocked the gate to her house and let them in, “if you’re dating his dad, does that make you his mom, his big bro, his second dad, or all of the above?”

“He told you that?” Akira asked, resigned.

Futaba rolled her eyes. “With you it’s always ‘Iwai-san this, Iwai-san that’, ‘I went with Iwai-san to the Planetarium’, ‘Iwai-san gave me a swan boat’. With him it’s always ‘Oh, Akira made me this bento’, ‘Akira said I should try this book’ and ‘Akira helped me with that assignment’. Two plus two equals Achievement Unlocked! Futaba gets a clue. Also, you didn’t deny it.”

Morgana wriggled out of Akira’s bag once they were in Futaba’s room. She flicked the air conditioning on, and swung into the chair, stretching. Morgana leaped up to a corner of the table, and twitched his ears as Futaba petted him. “I think it’s cute,” Morgana said self-importantly.

“I didn’t say it wasn’t. This Iwai guy must be really hot, right?”

Akira coughed, even as Morgana shook his head vigorously. “Nope! He’s an old man and I think Akira can do better. But it’s still cute? Aah. Young love. On Akira’s side, anyway.”

“Morgana,” Akira sighed.

“Come on! If you had gone out with Haru I could be eating caviar everyday, caviar!” Morgana said, in mock despair. “Off a silver plate. Or a gold plate!”

“I’m not friends with Haru because of her money. And a caviar diet would make you fat.”

“The word is prosperous. Prosperous!”

“In any case,” Akira said dryly. “We need your help. And we brought a bribe.” He fished out a wrapped box from his bag, which was only lightly dusted with black cat fur.

“I told you before, questgivers only give out quest rewards _after_ the quest,” Futaba said, though she took the box greedily and unwrapped it quickly. “But if you want to mix it up, sure… Wah! The latest Chrome MotorBear? How did you even get your hands on it? I thought it wasn’t even getting sold yet until next year!”

“Friends in high places,” Akira said vaguely. “It’s a prototype.”

“You asked the Sidequest Guy?”

“Yuuki doesn’t like being called that either.” Akira reminded her, though he smiled. “He knew a guy who knew a guy.”

“‘Nuff said.” Futaba set the box tenderly on a spare space on her shelf. “So. What do you need?”

Akira explained what had happened, handing over the blue calling card, and when he was done, Futaba drew her knees up on her chair, frowning to herself. “Huh. I thought the Metaverse was gone.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. I’m going to take a look around myself.”

“With me!” Morgana cut in sharply.

“An Investigation? Ohohoh. That really takes me back.”

“Not really an Investigation,” Akira said wryly. “The heart change—if that’s what it was—has already happened, remember? This is something else.”

“You should ask the others along anyway. Just in case. I’ll do what I can from here and keep in touch.”

“Ryuji’s at a competition in Seoul and Ann’s in New York. Haru’s very busy with her company and cafe, Makoto and Yusuke are in their final year.” Akira shrugged. “I don’t think—”

“Oi,” Futaba cut in, scowling. “No, no, no, stop. This is like one of those bad-writing animes, where the protagonist goes it alone and gets into trouble and then has to crawl home and beg all his _nakama_ to come and rescue him. Let’s skip that part, OK? It’s boring. Very overdone.”

“I don’t think it’s really necessary,” Akira said patiently.

“Oh ya? You maybe pissed off Real Life Cleaner Guy, who freaked us out even in Shido’s head, and that was when we still had our Personas. I was in a UFO and I was freaked out!” Futaba glowered at him. “We’re a team. We do Investigations as a team. Besides, if you don’t tell everyone about this, I will.”

“All right, you win.”

“Woohoo! Persuasion, rank _up_. It’ll just be like old times.” Futaba turned the card over in her hands. “Huh. This logo.”

“Don’t jump to conclusions.” Akira told her.

“We never saw the body,” Futaba turned to the computer, bringing up a couple of terminals and a browser, typing rapidly. “Could be something to trace. Since we never got around to it.”

“Tokyo _was_ merging with Mementos at that point,” Akira said, a little defensively. “And then I had to go home.”

“Well, if it’s him,” Futaba pursed her lips, “he sure took a hell of a long time to come back.”

“Or maybe he’s been back all this while, but we just haven’t noticed.” Akira got up from the couch, letting Morgana into his bag. “Keep me posted.”

“Where’re you going to start?”

“Shinjuku. I have a friend who might help. She has a lot of... insight into things that normal people can't see. I’ll work from there.”

“ _We’ll_ work from there,” Morgana corrected.

“Not you too,” Akira murmured, though he sent the group a text.

 **Akira** : I need to call a meeting in Shinjuku  
**Ryuji:** OMG  
**Ryuji:** Wait is this  
**Ryuji:** IT IS ISNT IT  
**Ann:** ??  
**Makoto:** omw  
**Yusuke:** Unfortunately, I am currently in an artist’s retreat at Mount Fuji, communing with my inner muse, and will be unable to attend. However, I will return to Tokyo posthaste if you need me.  
**Ryuji:** dude y u msg like tt  
**Haru:** Never change, Yusuke  
**Haru:** I’m in a shareholder’s meeting but I can sneak out  
**Akira:** It’s ok Makoto and I can handle it for now  
**Akira:** Sorry about the short notice  
**Futaba:** YASS WE R BACK ( ᐛ )パち( ᐛ )パち  
**Akira:** It’s not like that. Hopefully  
**Ann:** Good luck!!!! ♥ If you need me let me know. I’ll cancel the shoot and come back  
**Akira:** Doubt it’d get to that thanks though  
**Ryuji:** (╯°□°）╯︵ ┻━┻ Y AM I IN SEUOLF

 

#

Chihaya wasn’t around, which was unfortunate, but Makoto caught up to them outside the movie theatre. She smiled, pleased, and for a moment it felt like Akira had taken a step back into four years ago, meeting Makoto in Shinjuku and other places on assignments on her request to help her ‘expand’ her ‘horizons’. Just as before, Makoto was dressed neatly, in a black jacket and jeans, and even her hair was the same, worn in a sharp bob.

“Akira. Long time no see.”

“Same college and yet so far away,” Akira agreed, smiling back.

“Ah, you know how that goes. You’re busy with politics and I’m busy with the police.” Makoto spent her free time nowadays in the role Akechi had once filled, as far as Akira knew: a sort-of student liaison with the police.

“How’s your sister?”

“Very busy. The life of a court-appointed defense lawyer is crazier than being a prosecutor, somehow. But she’s definitely happier, even if she doesn’t win that many cases any longer. So, what happened?”

Akira explained quietly as they strolled slowly away from the movie theatre, and at the end, Makoto let out a sigh. “It does look like it’s Akechi-kun.”

“Really?” Akira wasn’t sure what to think about that.

“When I… started with the police as a student liaison… they handed me a box of his things that he’d left at the station,” Makoto said uncomfortably. “His family never came for them and… I never really tried to find out what happened to him. I assumed he was dead, or worse. Either way, there was an early case book in there. It looked like he was investigating the yakuza. Briefly.”

“The yakuza are legal in Japan.”

“Not everything that they do is legal. To say the least. He wanted to make his name doing something big. I think this was before he found out how to get into the Metaverse, because he stopped investigating them abruptly soon after. There were some locations in his notes. We could check those out.”

“Is this what it’s about?” Akira said thoughtfully. “Doing something big? Again?” If so, Akechi hadn’t learned his lesson after all.

“What’s this about for _you_?” Makoto countered, perceptive as ever. “Surely you don’t feel sorry for the ‘sweeper’ who got a change of heart. Or for the Cleaner.”

Akira shook his head. “I need to know.”

“Whether it’s really Akechi-kun? Or whether the Metaverse is back?”

“Both.” Akira hesitated as they passed the blue glimmer near the theatre’s alleyway, but it was inert as he passed his hand through it, and Lavenza was nowhere to be seen.

“You’re more honest now, at least.” Makoto said, though she said that with good humour. “That’s a good development. How’s politics?”

“You make it sound like I’m running for office. I’m not. I’m just an aide in Yoshida-san’s splinter party. It’s not as exciting as it sounds. Mainly administrative work and a lot of meetings.”

“That’s politics in general, isn’t it? Seriously, Akira. My sister and I think you’re wasted going into politics.”

“The power to change the world for the better, to do what we used to do as Thieves but on a massive scale… there are few ways forward for that but politics.” Shinjuku during the day was thick with people. Ducking down alleys was a bit of a relief, following Makoto’s lead. “Where are we going?”

“There’s a bar that was in Akechi-kun’s notes, close to here. He was vague about it, but he clearly thought it was important enough to mention. I thought we might try a few of the locations, see if anything pops up.”

“Gangsters, or rogue apps?” Akira asked dryly, just as his phone buzzed him.

 **Futaba:** Status update!!  
**Akira:** Still checking things out  
**Futaba:** Longhorn bar y/y  
**Akira:** Are you tapping our phones  
**Futaba:** I did some sniffing around Yoshiha’s accounts and he spent a lot of golds at Longhorn bar. Also he liked sushi place name of Itamae and salad bar name of Mayoyo. Who knew, yakuza hitmen like to eat healthy ┐('～`;)┌  
**Makoto:** Thanks we’ll check it out  
**Futaba:** I’ll find out where he lived too. Peace out  
**Ryuji:** FSFJGHTZFFTGLF (`皿´＃)

Longhorn bar was at the end of an alley and was closed, unsurprisingly. Disappointingly, there was also no sudden app self-installation on their phones. While Makoto was googling Itamae’s location, a faint step made Akira glance up sharply.

It was Iwai, looking visibly resigned, though his expression grew carefully blank as he looked Makoto over. “What’re you doin’ here, kids?”

Makoto narrowed her eyes, her feet shifting subtly, and before she could say anything or worse, perform some judo takedown on Iwai or something equally frightening, Akira said, “Ah, this is Iwai-san. Where our guns come from.”

“… _BB guns_ ,” Iwai groaned, and rubbed his hand slowly over his face. “What the fuck, I can’t believe you just said that out loud in fuckin’ public.”

“Hello again, Iwai-san.” Makoto said doubtfully, as she looked Iwai over in turn. “Akira explained the matter.”

“Oh he did, did he?” Iwai said sourly. “That why you two are hangin’ out here like two lil’ lost lambs? C’mon.” He beckoned, and started down an alley without waiting to see if they were following him. “This the friend you were mentionin’? When you said you were gonna get help?”

Akira had tried a few vague reassurances last night, but clearly he hadn’t exactly made much of an impression. “One of, yes. Makoto’s part of the team.”

“I got that bit,” Iwai muttered, “’round when you announced to the world that I was sellin’ you guns. _BB_ guns. And she's been 'round my shop before, remember? She's the one with the, ah, interestin' custom order.”

“Thanks for your support before, Iwai-san,” Makoto said politely.

“Buying all our weird crap,” Akira added blandly.

“Ah… yeah… I always wondered about that,” Iwai seemed amused now, a sight better than annoyed. “All the plastic frames and random junk that you used to haul in. The hell.”

“Closed shop early today?” Akira asked, and Iwai sobered up.

“Yeah. Got a feeling that a certain troublemakin’ kid might start sniffin’ around where he shouldn’t. Where’re you guys headed next? Itamae? Ain’t open either. Not that anyone would’a talked to either of you at best. Worst, two of you would’a gotten into even more trouble.”

“He has a point,” Morgana said, sticking his face briefly out of the bag.

“So what do you suggest?” Makoto inquired firmly, before Akira could interject.

“I need to know what you’re lookin’ for.” Iwai retorted bluntly.

“People who might have been asking after Yoshiha, or new people hanging around, whether he’s been erratic recently, his recent targets. Things like that.” Makoto counted off the points.

“Kid, don’t you already have a good guess ‘bout who it is?” Iwai said, exasperated. “Doin’ that kinda diggin’ around is gonna get the two of you into more trouble.”

“I’ve got another friend looking into that,” Akira assured him. “In the meantime, we need to confirm whether it really is a change of heart in the first place. Maybe it’s got nothing to do with what we used to do. Maybe someone’s blackmailing him.”

“Huh. Yeah, I thought about that,” Iwai conceded. “I’ve been askin’ around. Quietly. Waitin’ to hear back.”

“There’s another place, a salad bar,” Akira said mildly.

“Mayoyo? You’re not gonna give up, are you?” Iwai exhaled. “Fine. This one’s near a busy street. Should be all right.”

“The boss himself asked Akira to investigate,” Makoto said soothingly. “Surely he won’t get upset when we actually _do_ look into things.”

“You don’t know anythin’ 'bout the boss,” Iwai said, grimacing. “You think the Hashiba-gumi’s so successful ‘cos they’re lucky? Nobody even knows _kumicho’s_ real name. But he still controls Tokyo.”

“Shido probably did.” Akira said thoughtfully.

“Yeah. And if the boss thought that you did too, we wouldn’t have made it out of that room alive,” Iwai said shortly. “Look. Just… do what the boss wants, yeah? He keeps his word. He’ll leave you alone.”

They were out onto a busier street now, dodging passers-by. Makoto pulled a face. “Just… do what the yakuza want?”

“Why don’t you say that more loudly, girl?” Iwai scowled.

“Makoto here intends to join the police full-time when she graduates,” Akira told him brightly.

“Fuckin’ fantastic.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Makoto demanded, suspicious, even as their phones buzzed.

 **Futaba:** I think I found something mwehehe  
**Futaba:** Yoshiha was using a burner phone. Burner phone = smart. Using your credit card to pay for it = stupid.  
**Futaba:** I traced some of the texts and he was texting ‘Ebisu’ a lot  
**Ryuji:** god of fortune??  
**Futaba:** CODE NAME OBV OMG  
**Futaba:** akira ask ur hot lover  
**Futaba:** oops did I do the bad thing (″ロ゛) I  
**Futaba:** sorry rewind sorry  
**Akira:** Nah I was gonna tell you guys it’s cool  
**Akira:** Yes I have a bf and yes he’s involved in this case  
**Ryuji:** u has a bf!?!?  
**Haru:** congratulations!!!  
**Yusuke:** Congratulations!  
**Makoto:** grats  
**Ann:** ＼(≧▽≦)／ pic!! Grats!  
**Ryuji:** grat bro AKIRA I THOUGHT WE WEREBROTHrs CLDhvATodlME FSGTGTL  
**Akira:** omg guys pls focus

“Do you know who ‘Ebisu’ is?” Makoto inquired, before Akira could start.

Iwai stiffened. “How’s that… is that even necessary? To what you’re doin’?”

“It might be. Unless Salamander would’ve normally had a good reason to correspond with him often?” Akira said.

“Not really. Not that I can think of.” Iwai muttered under his breath, clearly unhappy. “Right. This way.” He took them across the street and into an alley, then down another turn, then another. Eventually, they emerged into a narrow two-way street, lined with closed doors. “Down that way,” Iwai nodded to his left, keeping his voice almost inaudible, “is a money changer’s shop. Run by a guy called Aoki Ikeda.”

Their phones buzzed. “Recalibrating,” Akira’s phone whispered. No app had magically installed itself this time, but their screens had gone gray, and a white icon of an eye glowed in the centre, ringed by a circle of eight wing icons.

“What’s the money changer’s shop named?” Makoto asked, her voice tight with excitement.

“Just Shinjuku Exchange.” Iwai was frowning at his phone. “The hell’s this?”

“Recalibrating.” The voice was from Makoto’s phone this time.

“What does he do?” Akira asked.

“Runs the books.” Iwai flinched as the next “Recalibrating” came from his phone. “Are the two of you gonna explain or—?”

“We need keywords,” Makoto cut in. “Things that his Palace might look like.”

“Ebisu, hm? Beer?” Akira tried. “Shark? Whale?”

“What even are those suggestions? Island!” Morgana peeked out. “Fishing boat?”

“You two. A shrine? Heaven?” Makoto hazarded.

“A zoo,” Iwai suggested, and bit out a curse as the world began to warp away, fading into the deep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Speaking of the Yakuza being legal in Japan, recently a splinter group of one of the largest syndicates, the Yamaguchi-gumi, held a press conference: http://mainichi.jp/english/articles/20170501/p2a/00m/0na/015000c They have a different integration into society than what you’d expect. Further reading:  
> http://www.economist.com/blogs/economist-explains/2015/09/economist-explains-20  
> Things you do for fic: Look up kaomoji.... http://kaomoji.ru/en
> 
> About characters: I'm one of those authors who can't handle a ton of people in one scene at one go, so while I'm still thinking about it, it'd probably be pretty unlikely that the entire gang arrives for entire chapters together. At the end of the game I usually ran with Makoto - Morgana - [Insert Random depending on situation, but Usually Haru], so that'd probably be approximately the mix for this fic tbh.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally, belatedly read some of the P5 anthology and Makoto’s met Iwai before, so I’ve had to fix some of the previous chapter’s dialogue. Also, as this story follows my own game, by the time I finished the game I had already maxed everyone's social links.

#

Akira was alone when the world refocused. He was standing on what looked like the remnants of the Velvet Room, as though three quarters of it had been wrenched away and cast into a maroon void that lit the gray stone with a dull reddish tint. The guillotines remained, but the cells were gone, only the doors left, swinging idly on their hinges. Igor smiled at him from his desk, his spindly fingers crooked over his long, sharp nose, and Lavenza watched Akira solemnly beside the table.

“So you have returned,” Igor said, and it was the original Igor still, with his higher pitched, quavery voice. “This should not have been so.” 

“What happened?” Akira asked warily. He wasn’t in his prisoner garb, at least, but he also wasn’t in his Joker gear: he was still in the light jacket and jeans from before. 

“Something unexpected.” Igor tapped his fingertips together. “It is all… terribly… _interesting_. Yes. Very interesting. Incarnation after incarnation after incarnation and I do not remember. Or perhaps I cannot remember.” 

“I thought the Metaverse was gone.” Akira said, glancing at Lavenza. “Though not the Velvet Room, I think. I still see the door, sometimes.”

“The Velvet Room is meant to be a place in between. It exists when it has a function, and is between existence when it does not.” Lavenza said in her toneless, sweet voice. “Our function complete, my Master and I should have awakened elsewhere.”

“It does look as though we are no longer fused to the Metaverse,” Igor said quietly. “The Velvet Room has been remade, if poorly.”

“I lost Arsène when I faced Yaldabaoth,” Akira said. “Is Satanael still…?” He trailed off as Lavenza looked down at her shoes. 

“Do you feel the contract?” Igor asked, instead of answering. Akira closed his eyes, clenching his hands. Reaching for his Personas had always felt like second nature before, something he did thoughtlessly. He willed it and they were there. And Arsène—Arsène had always been with him, lodged like a shard in the fabric of his soul, there even when he fused it away. Now…

“No. Nothing’s there. No names.” 

“No _mask_ ,” Lavenza corrected. “You no longer hide anything of yourself from the world. But this should not affect the ability to make contract with another… or the ones you already held.”

“Then? What happened to me?” 

“Oh child,” Igor said kindly, “in this world there are consequences on consequences upon consequences. You called a demon God to yourself to save a world: his touch has burned itself into who you are, who you were, and who you will be. You should leave Dominion. You are helpless within it now.” 

“Dominion?” 

“When Yaldabaoth fused the world with the Metaverse, he fused together _all_ worlds, not just two. When the Metaverse was dispersed, splinters remained, pressed into the wounds of the world.” 

“Into existing Palaces,” Akira guessed. 

Igor nodded. “The Sea of Souls, fastened into the World. Desire, you see, is a powerful force, when the battery is a human soul. But the desperate will to _exist_ , as it turns out, is just as powerful. Without the Sea, all Shadows cease to be.”

“The Shadows… remade the Metaverse?” Akira guessed, blinking. 

“It is and it is not. Just as this place is and is not what it once was.” Igor waved a palm at the remnants of the Velvet Room. “Go. Return to the World.” 

“Not yet. I have business in Dominion.” 

Igor chuckled, and tapped his fingertips together again once more. “Lavenza.” 

“A blood oath is an oath.” Lavenza walked up to Akira, and pressed her palm against his knee. The outline of his clothes grew briefly murky before focusing into more familiar gear: his sweeping black Joker coat, waistcoat, red gloves and dress pants. He reached up to his face, but the mask wasn’t there. “Your weapons will still function as they would. But you will wear no more spells.” 

“Thank you,” Akira told her, grateful regardless. 

“I wish I could do more,” Lavenza replied unhappily, and stared, thin-lipped, as he sketched a playful bow by way of farewell.

#

“I’m still a cat!” Morgana wailed, as the world focused again into the impossible.

They were still in an alley, but instead of forking out into a junction, it fed out to a vermilion world, the sky pulsing with ripples of iridescent colour, like an endless oil slick. Beyond them was a formidable, black steel wall that seemed to feed into the horizon on either side, though it was puckered to the west by a shaded entrance, hemmed around a ticket booth. 

Morgana was looking himself frantically up and down. He was still on four paws. The rest of them were still in normal clothes—clearly the target didn’t see them as a threat. If that was how Dominion also worked. 

“That’s not our only problem,” Akira began, then paused, glancing over at Iwai in concern. “Mune…” 

“The hell is this?” Iwai looked around wildly. “This is like before? But half of Shinjuku’s gone!” 

“Maybe you should leave,” Akira decided. “This isn’t really the Metaverse, but you might be able to use your phone to exit to the real world.” 

Iwai scowled, tucking his phone pointedly back into his pockets. “No. This is my mess too, and I’m not runnin’ from anythin’ anymore. Even the shit I don’t get.” 

“Very noble, but I am still a cat!” Morgana hissed, darting out of Akira’s bag. 

“Ah. It. Really did talk.” Iwai rubbed his eyes. “Fuckin’ hell. I don’t even. This ain’t a dream?” 

“Akira!” Morgana sounded like he was on the verge of tears—if a cat could cry. 

“Getting rid of Yaldabaoth changed things,” Akira tried to explain. He sketched in what Igor and Lavenza had told him, even as Iwai just looked more and more bewildered. “Looks like I can’t summon a Persona any longer. And Morgana has no separate form in this place. Probably because it isn’t really the Metaverse. Do you still have Mercurius?” 

Morgana concentrated, and for a second, his eyes flashed a brilliant blue, then green. “Yes. I think so.” He looked up at Akira soberly. “If you can’t summon…” 

“I can still fight. And it’ll be okay. Queen here will protect me.” Akira smiled playfully at Makoto, who exhaled loudly. 

“Let’s just… Take a quick look around and, at the worst, we can leave and come back with Haru. And it won’t take Yusuke that long to come back to Tokyo, if we need him.” 

“Besides,” Morgana said soothingly, “we’re not here to change Aoki’s heart. We’re just here to test whether the Metaverse still exists. Technically, mission accomplished.” 

“Approaching the real Aoki for information isn’t possible, is it?” Makoto asked Iwai. 

“Not if you wanna do it _and_ survive the experience,” Iwai said gruffly. “He never did take kindly to people. Even within the Family.” 

“Any idea why he might have been communicating with Yoshiha?”

“Nope.” 

“Let’s ask his Shadow then,” Makoto said briskly. “Or we might find that out in his Palace. Simple. Lead on, Joker.” 

“I’d really rather you went back,” Akira told Iwai hopefully. 

“No dice.”

“I don’t want you to get hurt.” 

Iwai snorted. “Kid, I can take care of myself, believe me. Now are you gonna keep wastin’ time, or are we gonna start walkin’?”

#

The ticket booth, unsurprisingly, was manned by a Shadow, dressed up in green and yellow livery. “This is a private zoo,” the faceless Shadow told them in a twanging lilt. “You better have an invite, yeah?”

“How do we get an invite?” Makoto asked politely. “If you don’t mind me asking.” 

“Family only. It’s a _family_ zoo.” The Shadow slapped one gloved palm against a printed panel beside his booth. It read: Private Property! Only for those who follow the _gokudō_. 

“Tch.” Iwai scowled for a moment, then he started to shrug out of his coat, which he handed to Akira, along with his hat and headphones. “Girl, turn around,” he told Makoto. 

“Why… eep!” Makoto looked away hastily, flushing, as Iwai started to pull off his turtleneck, revealing colourful, intricate tattoos. Akira was fascinated by them, even though Iwai preferred to keep them covered up, often even when they were intimate, and hated having Akira even refer to them. They were a reminder of a life he had torn himself away from, after all. 

The Shadow looked closely for a moment, then he nodded. “Welcome, Brother. Sorry ‘bout that. Can’t be too careful now’days.” 

“No problem. Can my friends get in too?”

“Sure. A friend of a brother is a friend of the family.” 

Iwai nodded, setting his clothes back in order even as the Shadow stamped out a few passes and handed them out. They were through. 

There was a gift shop just past the gate, though it was dark and empty, and the entrance opened out to a sprawling space. Signs pointed helpfully to a ‘Japanese Birds’ section to the left and ‘Giant Pandas’ further ahead to the right. “Wait a minute,” Makoto said slowly. “This looks a lot like Ueno Zoo.”

“Yup,” Iwai said, looking around with narrowed eyes. “Aoki loved the place. Funny if you ask me, but I’ve met people with weirder obsessions.” 

“Any idea where the treasure might be?” Morgana asked doubtfully. “Which part of the zoo was his favourite?” 

“No idea… Wait. He used to have little bird figures on his desk. White bird, big yellow beak, big pouch thing at the throat.” 

“Pelican?” Makoto asked, and Iwai shrugged.

“Bird’s a bird.” 

“Good memory for detail,” Akira said lightly. “It’s been more than ten years, hasn’t it?” 

“I don’t forget much,” Iwai said shortly. “Used to be part of the job.” 

“It’s very empty,” Morgana trotted on ahead, tail curling into a question mark—then he yelped as he stopped abruptly. “What… I can’t move!” He twisted, struggling, but only seemed to get more tangled up in whatever it was. Hastily, Makoto approached, only to flinch as her shoulder caught against something invisible. 

“Some sort of security measure?” Makoto stayed still. “Akira, don’t come closer. Can you see what it is?” 

“I…” Akira tried to concentrate, then he shook his head. “My Sight’s gone, too.” He reached for her, but Iwai caught his wrist. 

“It’s a web. Look against the light.” 

Akira peered closer. Now that Iwai mentioned it, there _was_ a faint, almost imperceptible, hairline shimmer in the air. “Maybe I can cut them loose. If I could find a knife.” 

“Don’t you Thieves usually go around in fancy clothes and gear?” Iwai asked. 

“It’s complicated,” Makoto said, behind clenched teeth. 

“I don’t like this,” Morgana complained miserably. 

“Hai, hai.” Iwai reached down, and palmed a knife from his boot: the handle had been hidden against the hem. “Calm down, noisy cat.” 

“Morgana! My name is Morgana!” Morgana hissed. 

“Shh!” Makoto whispered back, and Morgana subsided, abashed. 

“You walk around with that everywhere?” Akira had never noticed. 

“Force of habit.” Iwai ducked to avoid something Akira couldn’t see, then he knelt down beside Morgana. As he cut, threads fizzled into nothing, and soon Morgana was free, furiously licking himself clean. Iwai was working carefully on Makoto when the spider came. 

It had looked like a man once, perhaps. The spider creature was partly a portly human man in his fifties, from the waist up, though the legs dangled where mandibles would be, and the belly and pelvis was fused into a many-eyed… blob… that was fixed to a bulbous body, gleaming black, with a red insignia of an upside down set of weighing scales on the top of the abdomen. Long, many-jointed legs ended in needle-tip ends, jammed into the ground as the creature approached. The man laughed as he got close, his eyes glowing yellow. 

“Holy fuck,” Iwai breathed. “ _That’s_ what someone’s Shadow looks like?” 

“Not usually!” Makoto was trying to stay calm. “Faster please!” 

“I’m tryin’,” Iwai growled, then he hissed in surprise as his arm seemed to catch on something that dragged him forward, sending him sprawling. 

“Mune!” Akira started forward. 

“Stay there!” Iwai was being reeled over towards the giant spider, foot by foot, though he twisted, trying to cut himself free. 

“ _Mercurius_ ,” Morgana commanded, and his Persona flashed into being, crouched in the air, raising his golden spiked weapon as his winged feet twitched up—then the wings seemed to catch fast, partly insubstantial as they were, as did the cloak and Mercurius’ long arms, freezing the Persona impossibly in place. 

“Not possible,” Makoto breathed, staring, but what _was_ possible or impossible in this world that was not the true world? Or even the Metaverse? Akira ducked one strand, then another, trying to pick his way towards Iwai, then had to flinch away as a thread of near-transparent silk spat out, nearly catching him by the elbow. He was too slow for the next, and the next, held in place; behind him, Morgana hissed loudly, caught as well. 

“Oh-h-h. A friendly face.” Two of Aoki’s spider legs stretched out, growing longer, arcing over Iwai, twitching at the tips. Slowly, jerkily, he got to his feet, like a marionette, though he glared, defiant. 

“Ikeda. You look different. Almost couldn’t recognise you.” 

“You. Always tryin’ to be funny.” Another leg twitched, faster than Akira’s eyes could track it, and a shallow scratch opened up over Iwai’s cheek. Akira gasped, but Iwai didn’t even flinch. 

“Yeah. Y’know what they say ‘bout old habits. I’m just here to talk. Like old times.” 

“You left the Family, Mune. What could we still have to talk about?” 

“Seen any other intruders around lately?” 

“No. No. I heard about Yoshiha, though. A change of heart, yes?” The human mouth stretched into a too-wide, sharp-toothed grin. “And now here you are, with that boy. That boy. I heard that _kumicho_ talked to the two of you. Are you here to take me out?” 

“I don’t do that kinda thing anymore. You know that.”

“Liar. I always knew _kumicho_ would someday start to turn against me. I’m the only one who knows his name, after all. His _real name_ ,” Aoki snarled. “That’s why I tried to get Yoshiha to work with me. Stupid bastard. Must’ve tripped up one too many fuckin’ wires. And here you are. You and your friends.” The leg flicked again, and a second gash opened, an inch below the first, and this one started to bleed. Makoto stifled a cry. 

Iwai merely pushed his lollipop to the other edge of his mouth. “C’mon, Ikeda. I’m out of the business and you know it. You know why. I’m just here to talk. The boss said nothin’ about you.” 

“Maybe he did. Maybe he didn’t.” The great spider-thing swayed back a step, then sideways. “We can talk.” 

“Good. All right.” 

“But _first_ ,” Aoki grinned toothily again, “I’ve got to call in all your debt.”

“My debt’s owed to _kumicho_. I’m already payin’ it off.” Iwai said quickly. 

“The new debt, yes. But the old one, that’s due. That’s always due. You think you can leave ‘the business’ behind and ‘start over’? Heh. Heheheh.” Aoki had a grating, high-pitched laugh. “You owe us _everythin’_ , Mune. The Family _made_ you. You think you can just run away without consequences? Just betray us like that and get away?” 

“Aoki…” Iwai’s hands were twitching up jerkily, the one holding the knife and his left hand. 

“ _Anat_ ,” Makoto commanded desperately, but just like Mercurius, the summoned Persona quickly stuck fast, wheels spinning awkwardly in mid-transformation. Akira twisted violently against the webbing holding him, but only managed to bind his arm tightly against his waist, watching, wide-eyed, as the knife was brought up against the tip of Iwai’s little finger, slicing it off. 

“Mune!” Akira called out, even as Iwai yelped and dropped his knife, abruptly let go from the web. He held his injured hand to himself, sucking in a tight breath of pain. 

Aoki started to laugh again, skittering back another step. “That’s just the start, _Mune_ ,” he said mockingly. “You’ve got a son too, don’t you? A boy that belongs to the Family. He was given to us, years ago. You merely stole him.”

“Leave Kaoru out of this,” Iwai said sharply. 

“You think you can keep him—or your friends here—out of everything? No one leaves the Family. You think you can escape your past? Become nobody again? Run your little shop and pretend you’re someone else?” Aoki leaned in, grinning wider and wider, until Akira’s jaw ached to see it. “You leave when you’re dead, Mune. You. Your friends. Your ‘son’.” 

Iwai made a soft, wounded sound, his bleeding hand clawed over his face, then another, and then Akira realized that Iwai was _laughing_ , brittle, harsh laughs, riven with grief and rage and something else, close to breaking. “Yeah,” he gasped, in between. “Yeah. I tried to run. Ran and ran, for years, until some stupid kid with more balls than brains tripped me up and forced me to take a hard look at myself. I’m not runnin’ anymore,” he whispered, hunching over, and wind kicked up around his feet, arcing wider, wider, howling into a gale that blasted the webbing to ash and shifted Akira back a step, forcing him to close his eyes for a moment. 

The air grew warmer, then hot, and smelled metallic. Beyond, Aoki had put on a surprising turn of speed, scuttling up a nearby building. Iwai’s coat had turned ink-black, and he wore a visor-like mask under a military cap and gray fatigues. He went down on a knee, even as a long-barrelled rifle materialised in his hands, and sighted down the scope. Something shimmered in the overheated air over his shoulder, a broad-shouldered Persona in a smith’s heavy apron, gesturing to the left. Iwai fired. On the roof of the building, Aoki shrieked, nearly slipping, but he quickly skittered out of sight. 

Iwai slowly straightened to his feet. “Takes care of the web makin’ thing on his ass,” he said gruffly, then tilted his head, as though listening to another voice, his Persona fading away. “Spinn-erets? Ah…” He trailed off as Mercurius healed him, the cuts on his face and the wound on his finger closing up, though his skin remained bloodstained. “Thanks.” 

Akira hugged him tightly, shuddering, and after a moment, Iwai awkwardly patted his shoulder. “I’m all right.” 

“You got _hurt_.” 

“I’m a big boy,” Iwai said dryly. “I can handle it. Everyone all right?” He paused, belatedly realizing his clothes had changed, bringing up his sleeve for inspection. “Huh.”

“Affecting pact-Personas directly… maa.” Morgana padded over and sat down beside Akira. “This world’s different from the Metaverse. Mercurius doesn’t like it.” 

Iwai nodded. “My new friend up here explained.” He tapped at his temple briefly. “Ama-Tsu-Mara said this is the realm of Gods and Shadows now. Not the dreams of Man. Everythin’s fair game here. Somethin’ like that.” He started to gently pull away, but he staggered, and Akira caught him quickly. “What…?”

“You’re tired. It’s normal for the first time. Take it easy,” Akira said soothingly. 

“Let’s get out of here for now,” Morgana decided. “We’re going to have to bring Haru in, at least. And—” 

Something darted by, in Akira’s peripheral vision, vaguely human-sized, speeding into the empty bird house. Had it been…? “Akechi-kun?” Makoto called out, clearly drawing the same conclusions. “Is that you? Akechi-kun?” 

No answer. “Go in after him,” Iwai suggested. “Leave me here. I’ll take a breather.” 

“Best not to. Aoki will return.” And Akira didn’t want to go further into the Palace without a full, rested team. “We’ll come back. We still have time.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning** : This chapter raises the general rating of the story to E.

20xx 10/12

Akira woke up to 31 phone messages of varying levels of panic and Kaoru staring worriedly into his face. He hauled himself up on the couch, yawning. “What time is it?”

“Seven in the morning. It’s Saturday. I’m going to school. Umm. Are you guys okay?” 

Akira looked around blearily. He’d managed to haul Iwai back to Iwai’s apartment, after which Akira had promptly passed out on the couch. Some time during the night, Kaoru had probably draped a blanket over him and propped his head up with a pillow. He yawned again, rubbing his eyes. Morgana was still asleep, making little kitty snores on the coffee table, curled up in Akira’s jacket. “Yeah. We’re fine. Have fun in class.”

“Okay.” Kaoru hesitated for a moment. “Is this… Phantom Thief business? Sorry,” he said quickly, when Akira frowned. “I. Read some of your messages by accident. I didn’t mean to.”

“Kind of, yes. Don’t worry.”

“ _Don’t worry_?” Kaoru repeated incredulously. “Dad had _blood_ on his face and hand.” 

“Don’t worry,” Akira repeated firmly, looking Kaoru in the eyes, and after a heartbeat, Kaoru looked away, with a deep sigh. 

“I really don’t want to be kept in the dark this time.” 

“I’ll explain later. Go to school.” 

“All right. Yes. I’ve made some breakfast, it’s over on the kitchen table. And there’s a spare toothbrush and towel in the bathroom.” Kaoru tried to smile, but it was uneven. “Uhm. Be careful, okay?” 

“I’m always careful,” Akira told him blandly, which seemed to reassure Kaoru enough that he left for school. Still stifling yawns, Akira wandered off to the bathroom to clean up.

Iwai’s door was still closed when he got out, and Akira dithered outside it for a while before opening the door quietly and letting himself in. The room was small and extremely neat: there was a desk against the wall, beside a narrow window where Iwai’s laptop sat, powered down. There was a fan under the table, not in use, and a wardrobe set into the wall. Iwai’s coat was hung against the door, his hat left on the chair, but other than that… _impersonal_ was how Akira would describe the room. He’d seen AirBnB pictures with more character. 

“Hey,” Akira said dryly, sitting on the edge of the bed, “you can stop pretending to sleep now.”

Iwai sniffed, though he didn’t open his eyes. He’d pulled off his turtleneck at some point in time at night: it was tangled up in the sheets. Akira reached out, tracing the arch of a dragon’s coil around Iwai’s upper right arm, and Iwai twisted away, grumbling, “Leave me alone. I’m not usually up this early on a weekend.” 

“Kaoru made breakfast.”

“He does that. I’ll heat it up later.” 

“Is your hand all right?”

“It’s not serious. Doesn’t even hurt anymore.” Iwai cracked an eye open when Akira climbed onto the bed, straddling his thighs, grinning. “Kid…”

“What, _old man_?” Akira kissed the ear of a tiger, crouched against Iwai’s ribs, then its paw, near Iwai’s belly. Muscle twitched against Akira’s mouth, then Iwai stifled a moan with his fist as Akira followed a curl of blue ink past his navel with the tip of his tongue. He got Iwai’s belt off with no further protest, though when he started on the zipper, warm, rough fingers curled lightly into his hair. He pushed Iwai’s pants and underwear down, just enough to get to what he wanted, and spat in his hand, squeezing lightly. 

“Fuckin’ tease,” Iwai muttered, and Akira grinned up at him with faux innocence, removing his glasses and tucking them away. Usually, he _would_ tease, lick Iwai’s nice, thick cock until Iwai cursed him, then suck on just the tip until Iwai was squirming and snarling. Today he was infected by a strange urgency. He took the fleshy cap into his mouth, lapping roughly, choking on a moan as Iwai twitched against him, his cock filling up nicely. 

“Akira,” Iwai breathed, starting to squirm, and Akira obliged him, swallowing down more, hollowing out his cheeks. It’d taken him time to get used to the taste, and more to get used to the stretch, but he loved the way Iwai got when Akira was between his thighs, shaky and tense and desperate for control. He was quiet at the start, usually, with only uneven gasps and groans as Akira got the flesh in his mouth nicely wet, settling on a rhythm. Akira usually tried to make up for it, just because, slurping noisily; he’d get quieter soon, when Iwai got close. Closer. 

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty,” Iwai whispered, his knees pressed tightly against Akira’s shoulders as Akira bobbed back down, stroking encouragingly. This was what Akira looked forward to, this dazed, reverent part of this usually gruff and guarded man. “So good for me… fuck, feels so good…” The praise became prayers, then hoarse pleas. Soon. Akira pulled off, to Iwai’s hiss of surprise and a whine of “No, no, please—” then a disbelieving stare as Akira merely smirked and stroked harder. 

“C’mon then, Mune,” Akira growled, hungry now, and Iwai let out a shocked, strangled sound as he spilled, semen tracing thick lines over Akira’s cheek and throat. 

“Can’t believe,” Iwai began, cursing between unsteady gasps for breath as Akira started to laugh, making a show of sucking off soiled fingers until Iwai dragged him up for a messy kiss, jacking him off in quick jerks. 

The shower was meant for one and cramped for two, viscerally intimate with Iwai’s mouth against Akira’s neck, bracketing Akira against the wall as Akira traced inked muscle and old scars, endlessly curious. Akira was sorry when they had to get dried off and dressed: Iwai always grew reserved again the moment all his ink was covered up, and he was quiet as Akira set out plates and heated up breakfast. 

Morgana was awake, at least, propping two paws against the table as Akira gave him a portion of grilled fish. “Makoto messaged the group and stopped everyone from freaking out and thinking we were dead.” 

“Ah… it talked.” Iwai blinked. “Well, fuck.”

“This again?!” Morgana glowered at Iwai. 

“I just thought… Never mind.” Iwai started to eat. “This is all gonna take gettin’ used to.” 

“Welcome to the Phantom Thieves,” Akira said lightly. 

“I was thinking,” Morgana said, as Akira cleared the plates after breakfast and began to wash, “Akira, if I’m stuck in cat form in Dominion, and you can use weapons but can’t summon, I think if we work together we’ll still count as one unit.” 

“Sounds good to me,” Akira said, though it didn’t really. He’d dreamed of the moment on the plateau for _years_ , remembered that single glorious moment when Satanael had obeyed him, when they had been together, one single mind and purpose. Fate was cruel. Akira had been relieved when Iwai’s Persona had awakened, of course, and glad of it, but a small and quiet part of him had also been envious. 

Thankfully, Morgana didn’t seem to notice. “Oh, and also. If Iwai here is now part of the team, does this mean everyone now gets equipment for free?”

Iwai choked on the coffee he’d been in the process of drinking and coughed. “Dream on, noisy cat.” 

“ _Haahh? Who’s noisy?_ ”

#

“… so why are all of you here?” Iwai growled, as Akira hustled Futaba, Haru and Makoto into the back room of the Airsoft shop.

“Nice to meet you again,” Haru said brightly. “Akira said you liked my bistro.”

“French place,” Akira explained, as Iwai looked briefly confused. “Also, we’re here because you wanted to open for business and if we have a question we can just ask. You don’t often answer your phone.” 

“ _Also_ , Akira said this place has air conditioning,” Futaba added cheerfully. “So you’re Akira’s boyfriend huh? Nice to meet you! I’m Futaba. Wow. This situation is so much like a quarter of BL manga. Handsome older guy, pretty younger guy. I have so many questions!”

“What? … Please don’t,” Iwai said wearily. “You guys want to use the back room, fine. Go. Don’t scare my customers.” 

“Shop’s empty,” Akira said, with the cheekiest grin he could manage, and Iwai rolled his eyes, pointedly turning back to his laptop. 

“He really is hot,” Futaba said, awed, once they were settled over boxes in the back room. “Wow. Is this a sugar daddy thing?” 

“Not at _all_ ,” Morgana complained, popping out of Akira’s bag. “He isn’t even giving us a further discount!” 

“I’ve always said, if we need money for expenses, I can cover it,” Haru said firmly. 

“Ah… no need for that,” Makoto noted diplomatically. “I’m sure we have what we need for now. Besides, the situation’s a little different. We’re not here to steal treasure.”

“Shouldn’t we?” Futaba asked, adjusting her glasses. “I mean. I don’t like spiders. But this Aoki person’s Shadow sounds like he’s got something out for Iwai-san _and_ Mouse.” 

“If Iwai wants that changed he’d let us know,” Akira pointed out. “More importantly, we still have a deadline. We’re going to have to catch up to Akechi before that.”

“About that,” Futaba said soberly. “I know you guys think it’s Akechi. But I did a few traces yesterday and…” She exhaled. “Akechi’s dead. I dug up the death certificate too. He died from sudden cardiac arrest. Was found on the street near the Diet building. Passers-by called an ambulance but it was too late. He was pronounced dead on the scene.” 

“Probably when his Shadow shot him,” Makoto said uncomfortably. “Poor Akechi-kun!” 

Akira grimaced. He’d never hated Akechi, and had even felt sorry for him, near the end. He had hoped… “Where’s he buried?”

“I can look that up.” Futaba opened her laptop, balancing it over her knees. 

“I just assumed it was Akechi because of the logo,” Makoto scowled. “My mistake.” 

“There were the notebooks too,” Akira pointed out. 

“Still, it wasn’t a fully logical leap. The yakuza make a lot of enemies. They cause a lot of pain… the sort of pain that would create Persona users.” Makoto shook her head. “No matter. We should get back to the Palace. If whoever it is is changing hearts, we’re going to have to beat them to the treasure.” 

“I brought supplies.” Haru patted her tote bag a little shyly. “Coffee from my latest batch of beans. I hope all of you like it. And some lemon poundcake.”

Morgana perked up. “Cake!” 

“Is that even good for cats?” Makoto asked doubtfully. “I thought cats can’t eat citrus.”

“Maa… I’m not really a cat… I think…” 

“He was cremated,” Futaba interrupted, typing furiously. “Ashes were released to a relative. Poor guy. I’ll keep looking, if you want.”

“Not now.” Akira would have to pay Akechi’s grave a visit after all this, he decided. “Right. Back to the Palace, then. Remember, the rules might be different now. We’re going to have to be extra careful.” Their phones buzzed. 

**Ryuji:** I can’t believe it’s all back  
**Ryuji:** I mean  
**Ryuji:** Sorry Akira  
**Ryuji:** Makoto told us abt ur Persona  
**Akira:** That’s ok  
**Ann:** You guys sure you don’t need help?  
**Ann:** I’ll be back in a week anyway  
**Yusuke:** I think I will be returning to Tokyo. This new opponent sounds dangerous.  
**Ryuji:** I wanna come back!!! o(TヘTo)  
**Akira:** Seriously, it’s ok  
**Akira:** We’ll handle it  
**Ann:** Ok  
**Ann:** Be careful 

Iwai frowned at them on their way out. “That was quick.” 

“We’re going back,” Akira said, as casually as he could.

Iwai glanced around: the shop was still empty. “Yeah? And how d’you plan on gettin’ past the front gate?”

“Brute force…?” Akira suggested flippantly. 

“… Hai…” Iwai pushed himself up from the chair. “All right. I’m comin’.” 

“You don’t have to,” Makoto said quickly. “We’ll think of something.” 

“And the entrance might not even be the same,” Akira added. “Besides, your invitation’s probably been rescinded.”

“Can’t face myself in the mornin’ if some kids get hurt tryin’ to sort out _my_ shit.” Iwai said gruffly, though he didn’t look at Akira. “I’ll close up.”

#

The entrance was deserted, and just within, Shadows were prowling the grounds. “Huh,” Akira said quietly, as they watched from behind a wall. “That’s different.”

“The giant monsters and a huge-ass angel?” Iwai whispered. He looked good in his Thief gear, his rifle slung over his back. Catching Akira’s once over, Iwai added, “Y’know, deadlines aside, I was kinda hopin’ we’d have a day’s break. Didn’t have time to mod my own rifle.” 

“If we can avoid conflict, we should. Judging from the alert level, the other Thief hasn’t gotten to the treasure yet, I think. If the rules are the same,” Makoto said, shading her eyes. “Normally, Shadows don’t roam around like this. They… aggregate into humanoids. Guards and staff. They de-aggregate only when attacking or being attacked.” 

“… Didn’t understand any of that.” Iwai admitted.

“That Shadow-thing you saw here the first time, manning the Gate? That’s what we normally see,” Akira explained. “They become the other creatures when we attack. Normally.” 

“So if I were to pick off some of those in there now,” Iwai suggested, “Is that gonna mess things up in a good way, or a bad way?” 

Haru glanced at Morgana, who was tucked over Akira’s shoulder. “Never tried it before,” Morgana said cautiously. 

“Right.” Iwai knelt, stock braced against his shoulder. His Persona flared up, again bent beside him, gesturing a little upwards, and Iwai adjusted his aim. The shot was unnaturally quiet, just a whistle of air—a real sniper rifle, even with a suppressor, would’ve been too loud to hide this close to the courtyard. Beyond, a leopard-like bipedal creature in underpants abruptly collapsed, fading to ash.

“That’s… easier,” Futaba said at the end, when the courtyard was clear. “Security level didn’t go up either.” 

“Don’t have that many shots,” Iwai admitted, fishing through his pockets. “I brought a coupl’a magazines from the… uh, the real world, but they didn’t transfer over somehow.” 

“Just like old times,” Haru told Akira with a faint smile. “Speaking of which, have you picked out a name yet?” she asked Iwai. “A code name? Akira's Joker, Makoto is Queen, Futaba's Oracle, I'm Noir, and Morgana's Mona.” 

“Eh,” Iwai scratched at his temple. “Whatever. You guys can pick.” 

“… Sniper?” Makoto suggested.

“I thought we agreed before, no obvious names,” Morgana reminded her. “Hitman?” 

“Nah.” Iwai said quickly. “Seriously.”

“Shopkeeper?” Akira smirked when Iwai rolled his eyes. 

“Ooh! I like names. Uhm. Ninja? Ronin? Naruto?” Futaba fired off suggestions, excited.

“Haah? A fish cake?” Iwai scowled. 

“How about Kingfisher?” Haru said thoughtfully. “Have you seen how they catch things? They dive, fast, precise.” 

“Mm. I like that one. Kingfisher it is.” 

It was slow going through the zoo. Morgana and Akira made an imperfect team, and in Dominion, Shadows weren’t leashed to patrol routes. Which meant skirmishes sometimes bled into endless waves of reinforcements, an exhausting spiral that fed until every Shadow in the visible vicinity was destroyed. They took a breather in a monorail station’s safe room, sprawled around seats and boxes in a security office that flickered now and then, overlaid with a store room. 

“On the bright side,” Futaba said doubtfully, as she checked through scrolling lines of code before her, “our security level isn’t as high as it should be. We’re not neutral, but we shouldn’t just be hovering at twenty per cent either.” 

“Hrmm.” Morgana tilted his head. “The Shadows here aren’t all connected to Aoki, I think. Before, every Shadow you meet in a Palace was drawn and leashed to it by its master. Some of the ones we negotiated with here didn’t even mention Aoki at all when they fled.”

“That’ll work in our favour,” Makoto said slowly. “Or it should, if we weren’t fighting in waves. And we can’t estimate patrol routes because there aren’t any.” 

“We’re doing all right so far,” Haru said earnestly. “If we’re careful, it should be okay?” 

“No sign of any other intruder around, though. I don’t like that.” Morgana looked worried. 

Akira left them to it, sidling over to the corner of the room where Iwai was briskly disassembling parts of his rifle. “Pulls a bit to the left,” Iwai explained, as he inspected the barrel. “Wouldn’t have picked a Double Eagle, personally.” 

“You could’ve picked another gun from your store.” Akira pointed out. 

Iwai grunted. “I don’t stock that many sniper rifles. The most popular series are the M4s and M16s. ‘Sides, most people who come in the shop wanna buy shitty cheap LPEGs. They just wanna own somethin’ that looks like a gun. Don’t matter if it’s only useful as a paperweight.” 

“Didn’t have to stick to a sniper rifle,” Akira amended. 

Iwai narrowed his eyes slightly, then he shrugged. “Since my Persona dumped one on me when he woke up, I’m guessin’ he was on to somethin’. I’m just not sure about his taste in model and make.” 

That wasn’t all of it by far, given Iwai was making a show of reassembling his gun instead of keeping Akira’s gaze, but even as Akira was wondering whether to push, Makoto said, “Joker? Are you ready?”

“Yeah. Everyone good to go?”

“We’ve got a plan,” Futaba announced. “If we de-electrify the track, we can sneak quietly over it. That’d take us above all the Shadows.”

“If the layout’s the same as the real Ueno zoo,” Makoto said, “that’d take us close to Shinobazu Pond, where the pelicans are.” 

“Or we could just take the monorail?” Iwai suggested dryly. “Instead of complicating life?” 

“Or we could do that,” Makoto conceded, sounding a little shamefaced. 

“But that won’t be _stylish_ ,” Akira disagreed archly. “I like Futaba’s plan more.” 

“You’re a real terror,” Iwai said, resigned, though he waited as the others slipped out of the room, including Morgana. 

“Everything all right?” Akira asked quietly, when they were the only ones left. 

“Yeah. I think… yeah. Situation’s fucked,” Iwai said baldly, “but I think I’m… kinda glad?” He hooked Akira close, curling an arm around the small of Akira’s back.

“Glad that the situation’s fucked?” Akira pretended to misunderstand, and Iwai chuckled. Yes. He _was_ glad that Iwai was here. 

“You know what I mean,” Iwai murmured, and leaned over to steal a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Airsoft guns: http://www.wikihow.com/Choose-an-Airsoft-Gun


	5. Chapter 5

#

In Akira’s defense, the monorail wasn’t running anyway. Iwai still sighed out aloud when they climbed up onto the newly de-electrified rail, creeping carefully over the top. He took point, with Akira behind him and Futaba bringing up the rear, rifle cradled in his arms. There was something… strange about the way Iwai moved, Akira decided, all business, so sure of himself, even though the situation had to be nothing remotely familiar to him.

“What?” Iwai asked, his voice pitched low, as the rail took a gentle curve over a milling group of many-armed warrioresses. “You’re lookin’ at me funny.”

“You’re taking all this well,” Akira whispered back. 

“Not my first time.” Iwai hefted the rifle meaningfully when Akira tilted his head, and then it struck Akira what Iwai meant. Stalking quietly like this, on a high perch, making his way patiently towards a target… this was nothing new after all to a man who’d once been a ‘sweeper’, who’d flinched away from a ‘Hitman’ codename. 

“Are you okay?” Akira said cautiously, which got him a snort. 

“This ain’t so bad.” Iwai looked away, his jaw tight. “‘Least we aren’t actually killin’ anyone, I think.” 

“Have you done that before?” Makoto narrowed her eyes. 

“Nice try, police girl.” 

Makoto sighed. “You _could_ cut a deal with the police.” 

“Heh. Funny joke.” 

“I wasn’t joking,” Makoto started to say, then she paused. “Wait. Over there, under the bridge.” Someone was climbing up quietly on the far side, dressed in black, a hoodie pulled over their head.

“Want me to shoot?” Iwai asked. “Could probably get his leg.” 

“No,” Akira said, perhaps more sharply than he intended. “We’re not shooting any people.” 

“Suit yourself,” Iwai relaxed fractionally. “Far as I see, we’re on a deadline to catch a thief, and your cat friend could probably heal him up once we do catch him.”

“Too late now,” Morgana said, as the thief slipped into a side door into what looked like a closed gift shop, deftly avoiding a patrol of huge white tigers. Byakko, that was their name. Akira had worn it before, one of many: he had favoured Byakko for a time because it had been beautiful. His then-insouciance to the sheer privilege of his unique ability now struck him as wasteful. 

Though… no, Akira hadn’t been unique. There had been Akechi, the other half of the balancing act, his rival in a contest that he’d been ignorant of at first, then indifferent, until it had come within a hair of killing him. Akechi had also worn multiple names. Akira wondered if he’d also taken it for granted. 

The monorail curved around the top of the gift shop, giving them a proper view of the second half of the park. To their left, Shinobazu Pond sprawled, carpeted in lilies, pelicans skimming through the still water, indifferent to the few Shadows that swam or floated between them. Cages lined open spaces at uneven intervals, each containing a person, with a little bronze plaque attached to each cage. 

“The fuck?” Iwai muttered. “Previous bit looked pretty normal other than the monsters. What gives here?”

“This is more like a normal Palace,” Morgana said, stretching with his paws planted on Akira’s shoulder. 

“That’s right,” Futaba said, scanning lines of data quickly. “The readings here are more like it. So the Treasure’s probably in that lake?” 

“There are boats over at the terrace. Or we could go into the gift shop.” Makoto gestured to their right. “Try to catch the Thief.” 

“He can’t get out into the lake without a boat,” Iwai said, hefting his rifle. “This is a pretty good vantage spot. I say we wait. We’re not here to mess with the Treasure.” 

“About that…” Akira trailed off, scanning the area. “Do you want to? Look at the cages. That’s clearly what Aoki thinks about people. And relationships. There’s probably a Shadow of you around here somewhere. Maybe even one of Kaoru.” 

Iwai scowled. “I see what you’re tryin’ to get at. Answer’s no.” 

“Aoki ‘runs the books’, you said. Doesn’t that mean he might be blackmailing others? People who left the family… or people who owe the Hashiba-gumi favours or money?” Makoto said, her hands clenching up. 

“That’s right,” Iwai said, his tone going flat. “Your point bein’?” 

“Changing his heart won’t just save you and your son. It’d save others too.” Makoto waved at the cages. 

“That what you think?” Iwai shook his head. “The moment Aoki gets a callin’ card, how d’you think the boss is gonna react? Especially since Aoki knows his real name, huh? Pretty sure he’s got a real short list of suspects, and Joker here’s still on the top of it.” 

“We’ve antagonised dangerous people before,” Akira said dismissively. “If this will erase your debt to the Hashiba-gumi—“

“You were there the first time,” Iwai interrupted, distant. “There ain’t no erasin’ nothin’. My past’s literally marked on my skin. Can’t escape any of it. I know someday it’s gonna come callin’. You’ve shown me that there’s no use in runnin’. If I can keep y… Kaoru out of it, I’ll be satisfied with that.”

“The world’s kinder than you think, Kingfisher.” Makoto said softly. 

“Not to everyone.” Iwai ignored any further attempt at conversation, content to wait. Akira got bored of watching the patrolling Shadows beneath the rail, settling down, legs dangling into the air, and the girls followed suit.

“Nice view,” Futaba said, raising her goggles briefly. “We should come here in the real world. Neh, Joker?” 

“Sure. I haven’t been either.” 

“It’s crowded up there. Or out there,” Makoto amended. “But it’s beautiful, especially when the lilies are in bloom. We could do a day trip of it when Panther and the others are back. After all this. We could have a picnic.” 

“Ooh yes! It’d be more fun than the beach.” Futaba grinned, excited. “I’ve never had a picnic. Joker can make bento. He’s an awesome cook.” 

“I only know how to make curry rice. Noir's probably a safer bet.” Akira glanced up at Iwai, but Iwai was still ignoring them, watching the terrace. “You could come too. And Kaoru.” 

“Eh?” Iwai blinked at them, then he glanced away again. “Yeah, you guys should drag Kaoru along. Have fun.” There was something brittle about the words, the tightly spoken _have fun_ , but even as Akira was wondering how to approach it, the Thief slipped out from the building to their right, slinking across the thoroughfare to the pond terrace. 

“Kingfisher,” Akira warned, as the Thief unmoored a boat, starting to paddle out into the lake. 

“Hai, hai. I know what I’m doin’.” Iwai braced himself carefully, an awkward affair on the relatively narrow rail, and aimed. His Persona hovered into view, though it didn’t make a gesture, and Iwai waited. The Thief paddled further, weaving awkwardly through the lilies. Whoever they were, they were taller than Makoto, though not as tall as Akira, face turned away from the monorail. 

Iwai let the Thief paddle out partway into the lake before firing repeatedly. Out on the lake, the Thief looked around, startled, then flinched back as their boat began to sink. Hastily, they began trying to paddle back to shore, even as Iwai smirked. “That’s our cue to catch up, kids.”

#

They fished the Thief out at the terrace, where he’d abandoned ship and had been trying to swim over to another boat. Akira trained his pistol on the sputtering, soaked Thief even as Makoto pulled back his hood, revealing a familiar pale face and dripping black hair.

“ _… Mishima-kun_?!” Makoto stared. 

“Ah… it’s you guys…” Mishima smiled ingratiatingly. Up close, it was clear that he was just in normal clothes: a dark gray, long-sleeved plain hoodie and black jeans. He hadn’t changed much since Akira had last seen him in Shujin: he still had short, spiky black hair that was now plastered over his forehead, skinny and earnest. 

“ _You’re_ the one issuing calling cards to the yakuza?” Futaba was equally incredulous. “It was Side Quest Guy all along?”

Mishima bristled. “Stop calling me that.” 

Akira sighed, and lowered his gun, decocking it. “Yuuki, it’s really dangerous in here without a Persona. And even if you have one, you’re risking your life. Is this about the documentary?”

“Yes. Well. Not really.” Mishima got to his feet, looking them all over keenly. “When I first saw the… trigger appear on my phone, I thought I might as well take a look? For research?”

“How did you manage to steal a treasure without a Persona?” Morgana said sharply.

“Ahh? The cat talks!?” 

“Yes, yes,” Morgana patted his paw impatiently on Akira’s shoulder. “Answer the question! A normal person can’t have changed a heart!” 

“I _do_ have a Persona,” Mishima shot back, reddening. “I even have a model gun and things! Not that I’ve used them, but I could! I’m not a ‘normal person’!” 

“Yuuki…” Akira frowned. 

“Don’t look at me like that. I…” Mishima’s shoulders slumped a little. “Hai. Fine. After you guys saved the world, I thought. I helped too, right? And. It didn’t matter whether anyone noticed. We saved the world. I was going to make a documentary, do the festival circuits.” 

“But people forgot,” Makoto said softly. 

“But people forgot,” Mishima agreed, clenching his fists. “By the time I finished post production, everyone had forgotten that it all happened. The government covered it up. Re-election rolled by and nobody cared anymore. The Phan-Site went quiet. It’s like it never happened.” 

“Getting famous was never why I wanted to do what we did.” Akira said tiredly. “I’ve told you this before.” 

“Even though! Even though it might not be why you did it, look! You’re… Akira, whenever I run into you, you’re surrounded by girls! It’s not fair!” 

“Ehh!?” Haru blinked. 

“Mishima—” Makoto began, wide-eyed. 

“It’s true! Not just you guys. But other girls too! That idol, Togo Hifumi! Even older women! You have so many girlfriends!” 

“Who’re you calling a girlfriend? Calm down, Side Quest Guy,” Futaba glanced quickly behind them, out of the terrace building. “You’re going to pull aggro.” 

“I’m not a Side Quest Guy! I’m the protagonist!” 

“Yuuki.” Akira grabbed Iwai’s arm, ignoring his flinch, and hung on to it despite Iwai’s subtle attempt to pull away. “This is Kingfisher. My _boyfriend_. I’ll make another introduction when we’re out of here.” 

“Ah…” Iwai coughed. 

“You’re joking. You’re. Wait. You’re not joking.”

“It’s recent, I’ve only just told everyone. So calm down, okay?” 

“Okay.” Mishima blushed, thrown off balance and blinking owlishly, as Akira hoped. Then he started to relax, looking sheepish. “Umm. This… actually makes it all worse somehow, but. Okay. Sorry? I. Kind of overreacted there from the stress.” 

“So were you the one who issued the calling cards?” Morgana asked, tapping Akira’s shoulder again. 

“Yes?” Mishima cringed when Iwai growled. 

“Was you? Another fuckin’ kid? Well, fuck. D’you know how much trouble you’ve caused me?”

“Sorry! Why am I saying sorry? Sorry!” Mishima backpedaled and yelped as he overbalanced off the edge of the terrace. Makoto lunged, grabbing uselessly for his wrist and only grasping thin air, but before Mishima fell back into the drink, dark shadows surged out from behind his shoulders, great wings so black that they were scour marks into the iridescent reality around them. 

Mishima yelped in surprise as he swept upwards into the air, struggling for a moment before he relaxed, as the wings took him higher, above the roof of the terrace. “Couldn’t you have done this before?”

“What…? What was that?” Haru gaped. 

“Race you guys to the Treasure!” Mishima called over his shoulder, and started to laugh as he winged away over the lilies. 

“Tch. Friend of yours, huh?” Iwai patted the stock of his rifle. “Smartass. I could probably get him from here. Shoot out one of the wings.”

“Never mind. Let’s. Get into the boats.” Akira decided, frowning at the disappearing figure. “Mona, was that…?” 

“He didn’t summon a Persona. But. It didn’t feel like a Shadow either.” Morgana rumbled thoughtfully. “Maybe it’s something out of Dominion? Hnn. I don’t have a good feeling about this.”

#

Iwai found a speedboat, and although it was a precarious fit, they made good time surfing into the middle of the lake, doing their best to avoid Shadows. Whatever had carried Mishima away from the terrace looked to have tired quickly: The figure that was Mishima had abruptly dropped down short of one of the small islands with a distant yell. By the time he swam ashore, Iwai had beached the speedboat against the island, and Akira hopped out, walking over to offer a hand.

Mishima glared at him, clambering up and ignoring it. “I still got here first.” 

“And?” Akira nodded at the amorphous, twisting glow that sat at the apex of the artificial island, like a floating egg within the large pavilion. “You can’t steal it without issuing a calling card.” 

“What makes you think I haven’t?” Mishima shot back, triumphant. 

“Because… the treasure is still like that?” Futaba pointed. “Give it up.” 

“I sent the calling card through a courier company,” Mishima retorted. “Scheduled delivery. Not difficult. The Treasure will appear any time now.”

“Shit,” Iwai said, frowning at the nebulous shape. “The boss is gonna be pissed.” 

“Yuuki,” Akira tried again, but Makoto stepped in quickly.

“Neh, Mishima-kun. Why don’t we join forces? It looks like you do have a Persona, and you’ve proven yourself to be very resourceful. We could work together. You could be part of the Thieves.” 

Mishima had begun to waver, though he narrowed his eyes again when Makoto brought up the Thieves. “I don’t need you guys. _We_ don’t need you gu—urk!” He folded into a little heap, and Makoto stepped back, massaging her knuckles absently. She’d hit him bare-handed: her gear hung at her hips—but she’d darted over before Akira could even react, knocking Mishima out in a single punch.

“Whoah.” Even Iwai sounded impressed. “You’re just as scary as before, police girl.”

“Maa.” Haru looked sympathetic. “I think I can understand how he feels. Right, Mona?” 

Morgana muttered something uncomfortably, then, “Okay. Yes. And I think this problem came up before. But I thought we fixed it. Maybe we _should_ have changed his heart that time.”

“I thought he managed to change it himself,” Akira said doubtfully. 

“You guys.” Iwai shook his head. “You think people just… get over themselves once and that’s it? They’re a saint for life? People are complicated. _Life’s_ complicated. Maybe this thing you guys got, changin’ hearts, it ain’t permanent for some. People change. Sometimes they fuck up a few times.” 

“So what now?” Haru asked, looking between Makoto and Mishima.

“I guess we take the Treasure when it appears and try to get out of here without fighting if we can,” Makoto said, nudging Mishima’s arm lightly with her foot. “Between Joker and Kingfisher they could probably carry—”

“I’m getting a weird reading!” Futaba flicked through two panels of scrolling code. “From Side Quest Guy…?” 

Makoto backed off quickly, pulling her custom knuckle dusters back on. Huge black wings clawed out from Mishima’s back, gouging the soil, bleeding out of the hoodie in rivulets that began to grow viscous, then coalesced, forming fingers, a wrist, an arm. Something nightmarish was hauling itself out from mere cloth, knees and neck bent awkwardly until it shook itself, vaguely humanoid, great red horns arcing from a sleek black head that ended in a crow’s beak. Thick black braids tinted at the tassel in crimson uncurled from its head, and as it flexed its fingers, it pulled a red broadsword out of the air. 

“Isn’t that… Loki?” Haru said. And it _did_ look like Loki, Akechi’s true Persona, if with wings, and oddly… unfinished. Great patches of its once-striped body and face were left amorphous, pitch-dark. Corrupted, maybe. 

“Get ready,” Morgana warned, as Loki crouched over Mishima’s body, flaring its wings. In the corner of his eyes, he could see Futaba’s Persona flare into being, encasing her into a dark, floating sphere, only for Loki to snarl, leaping high, pouncing right on top of Prometheus. 

Futaba shrieked as Loki raked claws into the sphere—this time, Akira, didn’t hesitate, firing into the wings, trying not to hit Prometheus. Loki darted out of the way, unnaturally quick, only to hiss as it was abruptly punched back and dislodged. Haru had fired an enhanced, precise blast, guided by Astarte, the Persona’s grinning, pink skull dress winking briefly into sight behind her shoulder. 

“Ak…ira…” Loki gasped, righting itself in mid air, then its wings flared again to their furthest length. Bright shards of light stabbed down from the sky, dagger quick, and Akira lunged to a side even as he heard Iwai curse and Haru cry out in pain. 

“Haru!” Makoto was there, her Persona weaving a healing spell. 

Safe for now. Akira stared up at the airborne creature. “We’re going to have to bring it down. Mona.” 

Wind lashed abruptly over Loki’s wings as Mercurius clenched its fists, and Loki was spinning down with a yelp, crashing into the edge of the island. Akira grabbed Morgana by the scruff, ignoring the cat’s surprised squeak, tossing him safely towards Makoto even as he sprinted over to the sprawled Persona. 

He’d recognised something in that voice. Heavily distorted as it was.

Loki stiffened in surprise as Akira got close, then he roared as Akira holstered his gun and got a grip on one of the horns and on the formless dark of Loki’s chin and _pulled_. Claws ripped against his thigh, but something was coming loose, tearing free, ink sluicing down over Akira’s fingers. It had been a mask, of sorts. And beneath that, a face he knew, once shaggy chestnut hair plastered down and stained black.

“You!” Loki-Akechi twisted, pinning Akira down with a claw around his throat, the other aiming the broadsword at his eyes. “Die. I want you to die!” 

“That’s not what you wanted at the end,” Akira said, and it took everything within him to stay calm. “Don’t you remember?” 

“Akira!” That was Iwai. 

Thankfully, Morgana intervened. “Wait. _Wait_.” 

The pressure on his throat didn’t ease. “I…” Akechi shuddered, twisting his head to a side. “I wanted you to die?” 

“You died _for_ us,” Akira corrected gently. “Or I thought you did. What happened?” 

“Fragments. A double shot. Falling into a shard, lodged in another, someone close by. Another Shujin boy. Sleeping for years.” Akechi bared his teeth. “Growing stronger slowly. Until Dominion grew substance enough for manifestation. And… for my revenge?”

“You don’t sound so certain.” 

“For my…” Akechi trailed off, wings flickering open, then flattening down. “My justice?” 

“You remembered that at the end.” Akira said, and now he reached out, to press his palms over ink-stained cheeks. “We are the same. Remember that? Two Wild Cards, set on different paths. But we were ultimately the same. _I am thou. Thou art I._ ”

Akechi jerked out of his grasp, but he was laughing, great gasping sobs of it, Loki’s claws melting away in black spills, though the costume still looked like a seamless, angular black carapace, and the horns remained, fused into his skull. The wings were a crow’s wings now, wet with oil. “I died? I died!” 

“You did. And yet you didn’t. Do you remember your name?” 

“I remember _a_ name,” Akechi said, his laughter fading into harsh coughs. “A name that was mine, before I fell into the Sea of Souls and clawed my way back out. Do you remember me?”

“I could I forget?” Akira replied wryly. “Goro Akechi.” 

Akechi bared his teeth, as though in defiance, but slowly, piece by piece, he faded into tatters that streamed forward. Akira felt the first pulse of power and welcomed it greedily, pressed his fingers to his face and felt the angular arch of a new mask, something sharp-edged. Unlike the other Personas Akira had worn easily before, however, Akechi’s name weighed heavily. They were bound to each other by more than a blood oath; catalysts that warped what was and what should be simply by existing. Fate and a God had once intervened and seeded the bond of their making. Enough to pry open a loophole in a Demon God’s price, perhaps. 

Akira tried to get up, and stumbled instead, nauseous, dry-heaving. Makoto grabbed his arm, hauling him to his feet, and dimly, Akira could see Iwai grabbing something out of the air where the Treasure had been, just as an alarm started to peal in the air. 

“We’ve got to go,” Futaba said urgently, already spun out of Prometheus. “ _Now_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t like using archaic grammar myself, but I suppose it’s traditional for this series.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here have a Iwashu playlist https://8tracks.com/manic_intent/a-soft-spot-for-troublemakers# :3

20xx 10/13

Waking up to Kaoru staring into his face made Akira blink, momentarily disoriented by deja vu. “You’re up. Great.” Kaoru looked openly relieved. “What happened? Where’s Dad? Are you okay? Is he okay?”

“Slow down, one thing at a time.” Akira rubbed his eyes, sitting up and grimacing. He had a headache still, a mild one. Escaping Aoki’s Palace had been a bit of a blur: Akira vaguely remembered being nauseous again during the boat ride out to the shore, and then being dragged into the back seat of Morgana’s cat van form while Iwai drove like a madman. Huh. Thankfully Morgana _could_ still take van form. 

“Where are we?” Akira said belatedly. They were in an apartment he didn’t recognise, neat and clean, almost as impersonal as Iwai’s room. He looked over the back of the couch and blinked at the sight of Makoto in an apron, industriously puttering around the kitchen.

“Morning,” Makoto said, without looking up. “There’re some spare supplies in the bathroom. You’ve been out for hours. It’s nearly lunchtime. How do you feel?”

“Could be better,” Akira said, rubbing at his temple. “I can’t really explain it.” 

“You’d feel better after cleaning up and eating something warm, I think.” Makoto sounded worried now. “Go.” 

A lunch of omu rice and miso soup did make Akira feel marginally better, though it also did confuse him more than ever. “So… why are we here?” 

“You passed out and wouldn’t wake up,” Makoto said briskly, with a sharp glance at Kaoru when he started to open his mouth. “We were going to take you home, but Iwai-san said that it might be dangerous. So I volunteered my place, and he asked me if his son could stay over as well.” 

“Niijima-san said you’re both in trouble?” Kaoru said, fidgeting. “What happened now? Dad’s not answering his phone. He’s not at the shop, either, I got a friend to check. He’s disappeared.” 

Akira glanced at Makoto, who sighed. “It’s up to you.” 

“All right,” Akira said soberly, and gave Kaoru a quick run-down on the situation. At the end of it, Kaoru sat back, a little pale, quiet. 

“Hrmm,” Morgana sat on the table beside Makoto’s shoulder, his tail twitching. “Do you think Iwai went to talk to the Cleaner?” 

“What was the treasure?” Akira asked. 

“Don’t know. Iwai-san had it. It was small though, like a card.” Makoto paused. “Don’t tell me…” 

“It’s the Cleaner’s name? Ah… that’s bad…” Morgana’s ears flattened. 

“Where’s your sister?” 

“Working. She has a big case tomorrow. I didn’t want to disturb her. Though I can call her if you think we need her,” Makoto said promptly. “I’ve already asked Futaba to try and trace Iwai online, if she can. Yusuke’s back in Tokyo, I’ve asked him to hang around Shinjuku and keep an eye out. Mishima’s been told to lie low.” 

“Good work.” Makoto _was_ incredibly efficient at the best of times. "I’m going to go talk to Mishima,” Akira decided. “Get the rest of the story.” 

“I’ll go with you,” Makoto offered. 

“And me,” Kaoru said quickly. 

“We’ll be more noticeable in a group of three,” Akira disagreed. “Though I don’t really want you to be alone in here either…” 

“I’m not a little kid,” Kaoru said sharply. “I want to help.” 

“If Mune wanted you to come here he’s probably concerned for a good reason,” Akira said. 

“He was concerned about you as well!”

“I’ve got ways of protecting myself,” Akira said, which wasn’t exactly the truth, especially not out in the true world, but Kaoru wavered, glanced away, then deflated.

“I know what we can do,” Makoto said thoughtfully. “We can leave him at my sister’s office. He can help her with administrative stuff. Her firm’s in a high security building, it should be safe enough.” 

“Do you mind being an unpaid intern for a day?” Akira asked lightly. 

“As long as it’s just a day,” Kaoru said, and sighed. “Please keep me updated?” 

“Don’t worry.” 

Sae was suspicious, but wasn’t surprised. They left Kaoru looking forlorn next to the large photocopier, surrounded by stacks of case files, and fled before Sae could ask any further probing questions. “I’m surprised she didn’t interrogate you last night, when you brought us home,” Akira said, once they were safely on the train. Mishima had agreed to meet them in a cafe in Akihabara. 

“She did,” Makoto said wryly. “It was obvious that it was Phantom business. I told her we were trying to help out a friend.” 

“She’s going to keep pushing.” Morgana piped up, muffled from within the bag. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.” 

“Eh…” Makoto grimaced. “Hopefully we resolve this soon then. Her case should keep her busy for the next few days. After that, I won’t be able to deflect her that easily.” 

“I know Mune didn’t want to involve the police,” Akira said, watching the next stop stream by, “but if you think it’s going to help…” 

“I thought about that,” Makoto said uncomfortably. “When Akechi first worked on the yakuza files, he was assisting a detective who’s since retired. After that, he moved on to other, more sensational cases to build up his reputation.”

“You think the police won’t be interested?”

“I know how I can make them interested. But I don’t know if you want to go down that route yet.” When Akira looked puzzled, Makoto smiled wanly. “Iwai-san’s clearly used a rifle before, Akira. A real one. I can see that. If you can accept that… well. It’s your life. And I do believe in second chances, within reason. He’s clearly tried his hardest to leave his previous life behind, to care for a stranger’s child. But…” 

“The police take gun ownership very seriously.” Let alone the rest of it. Had Iwai… killed before? Simply _firing_ a real gun was illegal. And Iwai had certainly been completely blasé about possibly shooting someone, albeit non-fatally. 

Makoto nodded. “It’s up to you.” 

Akira thought it over all the way back to Akihabara, quiet. In the end, outside the Akihabara cafe, he murmured, “Let’s not involve the police yet.” 

“All right.” Makoto pulled out her phone as Akira’s buzzed.

 **Yusuke:** Nothing here yet. The Yakuza continue to conduct their business of scum and villainy in direct sunlight.  
**Ryuji:** dude  
**Futaba:** Be patient Inari  
**Yusuke:** Akira, are you recovered? Makoto said you needed to sleep off the infiltration.  
**Akira:** Yes I’m ok  
**Akira:** Had a bit of a headache  
**Ann:** So Akechi’s now a Persona?  
**Ann:** I don’t know how to feel about that  
**Ann:** Sorry… (╯_╰)  
**Ryuji:** Yeah… He was kinda a dick but he came around at the end and  
**Ryuji:** No one deserves that anyway  
**Ryuji:** Poor guy  
**Makoto:** We left Kaoru with Sis, going to talk to Mishima now  
**Makoto:** Keep you guys posted  
**Haru:** Please stay careful everyone

#

The coffeeshop was tucked away in a quieter part of Akihabara, and it wasn’t one of the popular ones. They found Mishima in the back, swallowed up in a large black hoodie, wearing sunglasses. As they sat down at the table and ordered coffees, Makoto pinched briefly at the bridge of her nose. “You look ridiculous.”

“You told me to lie low,” Mishima hissed. 

“You’re drawing attention, not lying low. Take off those sunglasses. All right. Better.” Makoto glowered, which made Mishima squirm and cringe. “So. Now. You’re going to tell us everything, neh?” She smiled. 

“Wah… so scary,” Morgana mumbled near inaudibly from Akira’s bag. “I’m glad Makoto’s on our side.” 

Mishima had grown a little pale. “Ah…” He closed his eyes briefly. “Okay. Yes. Okay. I was stupid. I should have talked to Akira immediately once I saw that trigger come up on my phone. I won’t do it anymore.”

“Start from the beginning.” Makoto pulled out a small notebook. “Four years ago, during the matter with Shido.”

“Shido? Umm. What does that have to do with anything… ok, I knew you guys were going after Shido.” Mishima lowered his voice. “I thought maybe I could help somehow. I felt like you people might need it. He was about to become the most powerful man in Japan. So I followed you guys to the Diet building. But you guys disappeared before I could say anything. So. I waited around close by.” 

“We didn’t see you when we were out,” Akira recalled. 

“That’s because… look. I still don’t really understand what happened. I don’t know how long I stood there but… I got a very bad headache? Then I had to go home.” Mishima blushed. “I know. That sounds dumb. I woke up the next day and it was gone, though. So I thought nothing about it, especially after… after everything happened in Tokyo, then the documentary and such. What does that have to do with now?” 

“When did the trigger activate on your phone?” Makoto asked, ignoring his question.

“A week ago? I freaked out at first. Thought it was a virus. But then I somehow went in. And that’s when I met The Crow.” Mishima leaned forward earnestly. “You guys saw him too. The wings.” 

“The Crow? Is that what he asked you to call him?”

“No. He didn’t talk. But I thought he looked a bit like a Tengu. And. I was watching an old American movie a few days before that… and he felt like that, you know? Like something dark, brought back for a good purpose. The name felt right. He… guided me through the Palace. I’d get these… feelings, when I was in there. I’d know whether it’d be ‘right’ to do something or other. Or the ‘right’ timing to get through a corridor. Sometimes I’d even just know things. Like the first yakuza guy’s name.”

“You didn’t encounter any Shadows in Yoshiha’s Palace?” Akira was impressed. 

“We did. Some. But the Crow was really powerful. He’d take care of them by himself.” Mishima smiled ruefully. “I’m guessing that’s not how Personas really work. But. I don’t think he was evil. And he felt familiar somehow.” 

“It was Akechi,” Akira said. “His… hm, I don’t know how to describe it. His spirit?” 

“ _Akechi_?” Mishima blinked. “What? But that guy… wasn’t he working for Shido or something?” 

“He wasn’t… it was complicated.” Akira said soberly. “Do you feel any different today?” 

Mishima nodded. “Usually after a Palace, I’m tired out. And I wake up with a headache. But today, nothing. Did you guys… do something to Akechi?”

“Kind of.” Akira said neutrally. “He won’t be haunting you any longer.”

“Okay. All right. I guess I’m… Relieved? Poor guy though.” Mishima said sadly. “Of all people to have to be stuck haunting, it was me? He must have been pretty bored.”

“You still did issue a calling card to a really dangerous guy,” Makoto pointed out dryly. 

The coffee arrived, and Mishima sipped at his for a long moment before he looked down, avoiding their eyes. “I didn’t want to. I knew it was going to be trouble. I thought, what if… what if everyone I knew got hurt because of it? I was going to chicken out of it. But then the headaches got worse. The Crow was angry. So I did it. Then nothing happened to me? So I thought. Maybe I could be like you guys after all.” 

“What made you even approach Yoshiha?” Akira asked. 

“I didn’t. It was random. I was in Shinjuku, buying manga, and then I really felt like I had to walk down an alley. After that, I saw the trigger come up on my phone and… I just knew the right words.” Mishima smiled sheepishly. “That’s not very helpful, is it?” 

Makoto let out a breath. “Stay out of trouble, Mishima-kun. I mean it.”

#

**Akira:** No luck with Mishima  
 **Akira:** Futaba?  
 **Futaba:** Kingfisher’s careful. He made a big cash withdrawal this morning from an ATM near his apartment, but nothing since  
 **Futaba:** Think he even bought new train cards  
 **Ryuji:** Eh? You can trace that?  
 **Futaba:** Obviously n00b  
 **Ryuji:** I’m paranoid now  
 **Futaba:** I got leads on his friend though  
 **Futaba:** That guy we changed the heart of, Tsuda  
 **Futaba:** I’m sending you his address and phone number  
 **Makoto:** Thanks. Yusuke, any luck?  
 **Yusuke:** It is still a quiet den of iniquity. But I have been inspired for my next work. Ah… who knew that it would be the polluted air of Tokyo combined with the threat of yakuza vengeance that would truly awake the muse? This is fate.  
 **Ann:** ok… …

Makoto bought a burner phone to contact Tsuda with. He quickly arranged to meet them at the sake barrels on the way to the Meiji Jingu Temple. Morgana insisted on going in first, just to scout, and they waited quietly in a tourist group until he returned.

“All clear,” Morgana whispered, as Akira scooped him back into the bag. “It’s just Tsuda. There wasn’t anyone hiding in the woods either.” 

“Really public area,” Makoto said approvingly. “We’re probably safe. But we should stay vigilant.” 

Tsuda was sweating in his suit when they approached, standing beside the towering wall of stacked white sake barrels, and he smiled nervously as he recognised Akira. Holding a briefcase, he looked just like one of any hundred salarymen in Tokyo, a good enough disguise, perhaps. “Ah. You’re the boy who was with Mune.” 

“Who’d you think it would be?” Akira asked. 

“I don’t know. The message I got was that you wanted to meet me about Mune, somewhere quiet where the Hashiba-gumi wouldn’t notice. I thought you might be the son. How’d you get my number then?”

“Never mind that. Do you know what happened to Mune?” Akira said, trying not to sound impatient. He _was_ more and more worried now that the day had dragged longer and Iwai had apparently switched off his phone. Only constant forward motion was keeping him away from panic. He could only hope Iwai hadn’t done something _really_ stupid. 

“No. I heard that _kumicho_ talked to him and some kid a few days ago. I assume that was you?” At Akira’s nod, Tsuda sighed loudly. “You haven’t changed, boy. And that’s a bad thing.” 

“I’m not a kid any longer,” Akira said evenly. “So. What happened?” 

“The boss is angry, is what happened. The Thieves are back. They got two important people.” 

“Yoshiha and Aoki?” Makoto said. 

Tsuda shuddered. “I’m not going to ask you how you knew that. Damn it! Does this mean that Mune had something to do with it after all? No, don’t answer that either. When the boss is pissed, he spreads it around. I’m fairly sure Yoshiha and Aoki are going to disappear, if they haven’t already.” 

Makoto set her jaw, so Akira cut in hastily. “We need to find him.” 

“Why? Mune can take care of himself. You—and his son—should find a way to lie low. Get out of Tokyo. I can help, if you need it. Wait until all this blows over.” 

“Is that what you believe?” Akira asked flatly. “Would it really just ‘blow over’?” 

Tsuda held Akira’s stare for a long moment, then he looked away, clenching and unclenching his free hand. “All right. Look. I know Mune sent _kumicho_ a message this morning. Whatever it is, I don’t know. But the boss took out a bounty on his head. Whoever finds Mune first—dead or alive—gets to be the new sweeper. Which is—”

“I know what that is.” Akira interrupted.

“You do? Shit. There wasn’t any word about you, or about the son, but I’m sure someone’s gonna try it.” 

“We need to see that message,” Makoto said. “Can you find a way to get a copy to us?” 

“Is that even important…? All right. I still have friends close to the boss. I’ll see what I can do.” Tsuda looked around, nervous again. “Good luck. I… hope you do find him.”

“Wasn’t that helpful either,” Makoto said afterwards, when they were headed out of the park. “We’re going to need more information. I’ll get Sis to arrange for Kaoru to be hidden somewhere. Witness protection, maybe.”

“Thanks. That’d be a great help.” 

“What do you think Iwai sent to the Cleaner?” Morgana peeked out of the bag. 

“Who knows?” Akira stuck his hands into his jacket pockets. The faint, lingering headache didn’t help, but he felt more off-balance than he’d ever been, even before, when they’d been on the verge of losing everything, years ago. He was glad for Makoto’s steadying presence beside him: she looked unflappable. 

She was also as perceptive as ever. “Hey, Akira. If you want to take a break…” 

“No. We need to beat all the others to Mune.” 

“And then do what?” Makoto said quietly.

Akira stared at her, surprised. “Help him, of course?”

“By doing what? Akira. We’re civilians. I know some martial arts, and we have power when we’re in the Metaverse or Dominion, but outside? Out here? That doesn’t count for much. Not in a yakuza crossfire.” 

“We…” Akira trailed off, looking over his shoulder, but Tsuda was long gone, the sake barrels nearly out of sight. “That wasn’t what I was thinking about.” 

“Then?”

“It feels like he’s decided to step backwards,” Akira said uncomfortably. “To before, when he didn’t trust anyone and tried to do everything his own way. I’m afraid that he’d step back even further. To the way he was once.” When Iwai had been the Hashiba-gumi’s sweeper, a time when a rifle would have fit in his hands as though it was made to be there. 

“I know I told you earlier that it was your decision whether or not to involve the police,” Makoto said, “but they can’t overlook a shootout in Tokyo, if that’s what’s going to happen. So maybe… I could talk to one of the detectives in the precinct I’m assigned to? Someone whom Sae thinks we can trust. They’d have far more experience investigating something like this than we do.”

Talk to a detective… someone with experience… Akira came to an abrupt stop. “I’ve been an idiot.” 

“What?” Morgana leaned out. “Something happened?”

“We _do_ already know a detective.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://www.japantimes.co.jp/news/2013/01/06/national/media-national/even-gangsters-live-in-fear-of-japans-gun-laws/#.WQ2I2FOGOJQ
> 
> Also, a friend told me she keeps reading the title of this fic as King of Tentacles… ^^;;; Well… sadly Mara will not be making an appearance.


	7. Chapter 7

#

The Velvet Room was still unfinished when Akira stepped through its Akihabara entrance: Shibuya’s was probably too close to Iwai’s shop to be safe for now. Igor steepled his long fingers when Akira came through the cell door, grinning. “Oh-hoh. That is interesting.”

“You wear a name on your soul again,” Lavenza said. She tilted her head in a too-smooth, doll-like motion. “And a mask. How has that been possible?” 

“He’s not really a Persona, is he?” Akira said. He’d felt a tightening in his chest when he’d stepped through the entrance, like a warning shot. 

“No. A Persona is a creature or a person or a being out of mythos.” Igor tapped his fingertips lightly. “Somewhere, human belief powered it into being, birthing it from the Sea of Souls, to be drawn towards human distortion. The name you wear is nothing of the sort. And yet. It is close.”

“How can a human merge with a Persona?” Akira asked. “I think that’s what happened.” 

“The manner of his creation was unique,” Lavenza explained. “A Trickster, killing and being killed by his Shadow, powered by an unnaturally enhanced Palace. Utter human malice and utter human sacrifice stitched together into something new.”

Akira concentrated. His clothes flickered into the Joker costume, but before he could try to call Akechi the ache in his chest became a stab of pain, and he doubled over, gasping. Gritting his teeth, he steeled himself, _commanding_ , and abruptly, Akechi was standing beside him, looking briefly startled. Instead of the black armour he had worn as Loki, in the Velvet Room Akechi was dressed in his impeccable olive school uniform, his shaggy hair back to pale brown, the only hint of what he really was being a pair of small black wings stretching from his shoulders. 

“Stop that,” Akira growled, hands pressed to his knees, catching his breath. “I need your help.” 

“What _is_ this place? It’s… familiar?” Akechi said doubtfully, looking around slowly, then he frowned at Igor. “Akira, we shouldn’t be here. That man… I remember something about that man.” He pressed a hand against his face briefly. “I need to remember. We should leave, now.”

Had Yaldabaoth made a different version of the Velvet Room for Akechi? “It’s a long story, but Igor here isn’t our enemy. Neither is Lavenza.” 

“I. Yes.” Akechi grit his teeth briefly. “But there’s a lot of pain here. Death and sacrifice and fear… Where are we?” 

“An in-between place, where I can talk to you without wasting time in the true world. Akechi, you’re a detective, aren’t you?”

Akechi smiled thinly at him. “Ah, you know the answer to that. No. I’m a fake.” 

“At the beginning you weren’t. You investigated the yakuza.” 

“You make that sound so grand.” Akechi chuckled. “’Investigated the yakuza’! The yakuza have been part of life in Japan since the Edo period, at the very least. Doing anything to excise them is too difficult. As I quickly learned. Besides, the police often tolerate them, within boundaries.” 

“You became famous for the wrong things.” Akira forced patience. “But at the beginning, before you were famous? You must have been good at investigating cases. Why else would the police create a role just for you?”

“I was a mascot. Someone they could trot out to schools for recruitment drives. Something like that.” Akechi smiled again, an uneven smile. “People only ever use other people.”

“So you can’t help me?” He’d hoped… 

“I didn’t say that.” Akechi began to circle him in a lazy saunter, hands clasped behind his back. “I tried so hard to belong somewhere. The police. At school. Even with you people. Nothing worked. It was like I was endlessly falling through cracks, shouting into the dark. That’s what drives some people to the yakuza. Don’t you think?”

Akira nodded. “Mune said something along those lines.” 

“But it still takes a certain sort of person to _choose_ the yakuza. Even those who were conditioned for it. Or those who were born into that kind of life.” Akechi completed one lazy circuit, wings stretching. “The yakuza have an interesting way of seeing the world. That’s what I learned. Their _gokudō_ , the so-called ‘ultimate path’. The way they call themselves _ninkyō dantai_ , chivalrous organisations.”

“Evil people don’t often think of themselves as evil.” 

“That’s right.” Akechi said, and nodded. “Even me.”

“You weren’t evil, Akechi. Your father, yes. You, no.” 

He laughed by way of response, teeth bared, and shook his head, but before Akira could reply, Akechi was sober again, still walking. “I admire them, in a way. Our society is so stratified, so… restricted. The yakuza, not so much. They were one of the first people to get aid to Fukushima when it happened, did you know? While the government was still sorting out red tape.” 

“I’ve heard.” 

“They’re outcasts. Being outcast has its benefits. We know what that feels like.” 

“I wouldn’t be too sympathetic,” Akira said. “They’re still criminals. I doubt sending aid to disaster areas was fully altruistic. Not when many of them have ties to the construction industry.” His Shujin teachers’ endless love of trivia often turned out useful in unexpected ways.

“It’s important to be sympathetic. If you don’t understand your prey completely, feel empathy, you can’t hunt them effectively. Look at what happened between us.” Akechi made a dismissive gesture. “I made a miscalculation about you and paid for it.” 

“Is this going somewhere then?”

“Be patient.” Akira waggled a finger at him, grinning impishly. “Talking to Tsuda was good. You’ve established that Iwai isn’t reaching out to his previous associates. Or he would’ve tried Tsuda. The man’s his blood brother, after all. And Futaba mentioned that Iwai’s only using cash.” 

Akira nodded. “He’s gone to ground.” 

“Do you think so?” Akechi smiled. “Do you think someone who intentionally left the yakuza on behalf of a stranger’s baby, who allowed himself to be persecuted and blackmailed just to keep his adopted son from feeling pained about his ‘true’ past… would just abandon that boy to anyone?” 

“He’s probably watching over Kaoru. Somewhere.” Akira should have thought _that_ through. 

“A tiger, hunting tigers hunting a tiger, in a jungle of concrete.” Akechi hummed thoughtfully. “You could call them all out. Stake out bait.” 

“I won’t put Kaoru in danger.” 

“Ahh. Sentiment.” Akira let out an exaggerated sigh. “Then you could do this the hard way. Change the Cleaner’s heart. Hope he calls off the tiger hunt.”

“We don’t know his name. Only Aoki did. And now possibly Mune.” 

“Not everyone needs to know keywords before they get into a Palace.” When Akira blinked, Akechi said dryly, “I didn’t have the benefit of a magic talking cat friend. How _do_ you think I got into my first Palace?” 

“I thought you must have gone into the Mementos first. Then gained access to Futaba’s mother’s notes about pscience.” 

“No, no. I had to demonstrate my ability _before_ Shido took me seriously.” Akechi’s lip curled. “Regardless. I can help you get into any Palace you want. Without keywords. But only you. Since you wear my name now.”

“You can bring others in too,” Akira pointed out. “You brought in a lot of police to Sae’s Palace.” 

“I knew the keywords for hers. If you don’t trust me, try it.”

The others weren’t going to like this. “Fine.”

#

They threaded between worlds in Shinjuku. Makoto had been openly unhappy about the prospect of Akira heading on alone, but Akira had promised to try and find the Cleaner’s name through his Palace. If he could, he’d come out for the rest of them. In the meantime, everyone else would keep looking for Iwai.

Beyond the movie theatre now stood a walled city. A vast block of concrete loomed against a gray sky, an eye-bleedingly complex stack of boxed housing, staggered signage, laundry, and broken furniture. It was rather less… grandiose… than Akira would’ve imagined a yakuza boss’ palace to be. “Did we get the right place?” he said. 

There was a moment’s pause, then Akechi appeared beside him, arms folded behind his back. He was in his Loki gear now, the great wings arched, hovering a foot above the ground. “You’re in your Thieves armour.” Akechi said. He was grinning, all bared teeth. “How curious.” 

“What is this?” 

“It’s like the Kowloon Walled City, a smaller version. A vertical jigsaw of human spaces, crushed together in forced-fitting pieces. For years, the densest place on Earth, and largely unregulated.”

“So what does that mean?” Akira asked. Akechi didn’t answer, disappearing into tatters instead. Giving up, Akira approached the closest wall quietly. There were no visible doors set into the bared concrete, but after a few circuits he found a low-hanging air-conditioning unit that he could reach. He pulled himself up onto a second floor. The balcony window was shuttered with steel slats, as were all the other windows he could see. 

“Looks like a high alert,” Akechi murmured in his mind. “Someone else must have triggered it.” 

“Who would…” Akira trailed off, horrified. “Mune’s in here?” 

“Who else could get into this Palace?” As Akira touched the wall, it flickered, a colourful, eye-watering vibrato. 

“I thought he’d be watching over Kaoru.”

“It was _one_ possibility. This was the more desperate option.” Akechi grinned broadly. “That he’d decide to excise the issue himself. There’s a vent, you should be able to get in that way.” 

The greasy vent opened up into a storage room, one that also flickered and warped. A safe room, maybe? He wasn’t sure, without Futaba or Morgana to guide him. Akira didn’t have time to spare to wonder, anyway. He pushed the door open gently, peering out, and let himself through into a narrow, dimly lit corridor. Compared to all the Palaces he’d been in to date, the Cleaner’s was… considerably more horror movie than lavish wish-fulfilment, to say the least. 

Creeping along the corridor past closed and barred doors, Akira tried not to feel isolated. Even at the very beginning, he’d had Ryuji with him. Was this how Akechi had felt all the time? “Careful,” Akechi said, in the quiet of Akira’s mind. “Two Shadows, around that corner.” 

Akira flattened himself into the shadows at the corner of the wall and peeked. Further down the adjoining corridor were two Shadows in period costume, dressed like wandering samurai. They looked incongruous under the fluorescent lamps, the peeling wall paint. “The chivalrous,” Akechi told him. His laughter rattled, making Akira wince. 

“Shh.” Akira said, trying to listen in.

“… Found the intruder yet?” 

“Last seen on the fourth floor. It’s just an exterior breach. Sanctum’s still intact.” 

“Good. The Master doesn’t want to be disturbed.”

“There’s another vent,” Akechi said. “Behind those Shadows. Unless you still want me to be quiet.” 

Akira nodded. The Shadows split up, on patrol. Akira waited for the first to wait at the junction of the corridors and turn, then he crept behind it noiselessly, pulling himself up to the vent once he was within reach. It took him up a floor, then several corridor turns and up an emergency staircase, blocked by refuse below the door he had slipped through. Above, the stairs stretched up two floors before fragmenting into gnarled iron spikes. 

“How do you know where to go?” Akira asked, as he went up the concrete stairs. 

“Don’t you?” Akechi sounded equally surprised, though he was smirking when he materialised, perched on the safety rail of the stairs, feet dangling. At least he was still in his Loki armour. 

“You know the answer to that. You were with us for a few Mementos. And part of Sae’s Palace.” 

“I’ve been thinking about that.” Akechi got to his feet, balancing precariously on the rail. “Why did Yaldabaoth make me so much stronger than you?” 

“It was meant to be a rigged game.” Akira continued up the stairs, heading for the topmost door. 

“Was it? You won, after all. Conclusively.” 

“Against the odds.” 

“I liked you,” Akechi said, as he followed him up, still balanced on the rail, wings outstretched. “I didn’t want to admit it at the end. I liked you and hated you at the same time. I hated how much I _wanted_ to be you.”

“An outcast student with a criminal record and indifferent parents?” Akira smiled though, wryly. 

“Maybe not the first part. But you _had_ parents.” 

“Parents do help to shape who we are. But they don’t ultimately define you. I think it’s a waste to let other people do that on your behalf. Who I am, who I will be, that’s a question for myself to answer and always will be.” Akira paused before the last door. “I wish you understood that before it was too late.”

“Is it too late?” Akechi asked, hopping off the rail, though before Akira could reply, he’d disintegrated into shards. When he spoke again, it was within Akira’s mind. “Careful. There’s a patrolling Shadow outside.”

#

The fourth floor was thick with Shadows. Akira took a breather in an unlocked room, a narrow chamber of a noodle shop. A butcher’s block sat near the window, the cleaver jutting out from a corner, all of it stained black. Akira sat on a box, grimacing as he checked his remaining supplies.

“Harder going than you expected?” Akechi appeared by the block, nudging the cleaver with a fingertip. 

Akira shook his head. He hadn’t meant to go this far in by himself, even with Akechi beside him. They’d barely managed to escape from one encounter that was too much for them, and had been lucky in the rest. He swallowed one of Takemi’s pills dry, and leaned back against the wall, waiting for the pain to ease up. A Shadow had gotten a lucky swipe in against his ribs. 

“I’ve observed you for a while,” Akechi said, as he peered out from the window, “but I haven’t seen you like this. Unfocused. Is that what it’s like to be in love?” 

“What do you think?”

“You’re deflecting.” Akechi leaned against the wall, folding his arms. “I used to watch some popular animes and dramas. Because the other students liked them, and I wanted to have something to talk to them about. The villain almost always tells the protagonist that love is a weakness. The protagonist always proves them wrong. What a sentimental stereotype. The villain’s right, of course.”

“Stereotypes are generally sentimental in some way or other.” Akira got wearily to his feet, touching his ribs. The pain was fading. “Let’s keep going.” 

“You’re not going to tell me that I’m wrong?” 

“You’re not a villain. And I think you have bad taste in dramas.” 

“I didn’t watch them because I liked them.” Akechi scowled. “And I was trying to make a point. You’re here for the wrong reasons.” 

“Am I?” 

“Iwai used to be a sweeper. This floor looked undisturbed, albeit with more security than usual. Ergo, he’s not here.” 

“How’d you know that?” 

“There’d be mayhem otherwise?” 

“So why didn’t you say something _earlier_?” 

“I needed to confirm my hypothesis,” Akechi said, and beamed, his infuriating, mock-innocent smile, grotesque under the black crowned cowl that he now wore. 

Akechi was baiting him, trying to get Akira to beg for a solution, a deduction, _something_. Akira grit his teeth, then he sat down again, managing to stay impassive. “What was Yoshiha’s Palace like?” 

“What does that have to do with anything?” Akechi glowered at him, off-balance. 

“Let me confirm a hypothesis,” Akira said, and allowed himself a faint smile when Akechi sputtered. 

“Fine. It was like the Coliseum. But we had to work through the rooms within the walls, even the chambers underneath. The Treasure was in the Emperor’s box.” 

“Walled cities. Central spaces.” Akira ran his fingertips over the sharp edges of his mask. He hadn’t yet looked in a mirror, but it felt like layers of steel feathers. “Killing people changes you. It’d change anyone.”

“Yes, that’s it,” Akechi said, trailing his fingertips over the butcher’s block again. “Good. You’re starting to understand.”

“The Palaces we’ve seen before were an expression of distorted desires—”

Akechi sighed. “Don’t get boring, Akira.”

Akira ignored him. “—but more importantly, they were also expressions of the target’s understanding of the world, and their place within it. The ones we changed before were the kings of the worlds they imagined, for the most part. But this isn’t a kingdom. It’s more like an elaborate prison. Was that what Yoshiha’s Palace was like?” Futaba's Palace had technically been a prison... a tomb, to be accurate. Elaborate as it was as well, it felt close to the Palace Akira was in now.

“Yes. Not as dense, or as dark as this one. But it was similar.” 

“These sweepers are haunted by the lives they’ve taken. Even if they don’t seem to be, out in the true world. Taking a life wounds you, deep down. It’s partly why so many soldiers return from the wars with PTSD, isn’t it? Why readjusting to civilian life is often a struggle.” Futaba too, had been haunted—by her own guilt, worse: by traumas meted onto her. But the soul of a killer was something different, perhaps. Something darker.

“Don’t get sympathetic.” 

“I’m not.” How many people had the Cleaner killed? “Was Yoshiha the king of his Palace, or its prisoner?” 

“Why must someone be one or the other?” Akechi shook his head. “You’re losing focus again. What are you here for? To change the Cleaner’s heart, or to find Iwai?”

“Why must it be one or the other?” Akira shot back. “We have to find Mune, if he’s still in here. He might have been a sweeper before, but he’s new to Palaces. Once we find him, we’re going to drag him out to the real world. Then we’ll come back in with the others and steal the Treasure together.”

“Not a bad plan. If you ignore how it’d waste at least half a day. When you emerge from Dominion, you’d be tired.” 

“Then what do you suggest—“ Akira scrambled to his feet as the door slammed open. It was one of the samurai Shadows, blade raised for a strike. There wasn’t anywhere to run. He’d have to wear the blow and hope for the best—

The sound of a gunshot was loud enough that Akira’s ears rang in the enclosed space. The Shadow disintegrated, and behind it, Iwai lowered a pistol, pushing the lollipop in his mouth to the side. “Tch. Should’ve known it was you. Come on then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yakuza relief aid: http://www.reuters.com/article/us-yakuza-idUSTRE72O6TF20110325
> 
> I usually use italics to demarcate non-spoken dialogue, but using a shit ton of italics in this chapter was going to hard to read, so I used the usual " " instead for Akechi. For the rest of the fic, it'd be in italics.


	8. Chapter 8

#

Iwai had bypassed the floors altogether: he’d used grapples to climb up to the roof of the complex instead, where, he said, he’d been monitoring the Palace. “How?” Akira asked, curious. “You can hack into the data? Like Futaba?”

“Wouldn’t know where to start.” Iwai sat in a rusting chair beside a barred roof access. Networks of crooked television antennas, air conditioning units and disused furniture dotted the top level of the walled city, interspersed by empty rooftop gardens. Like the rest of the Palace, it looked uncomfortably normal. “Some of those ‘spy’ surveillance bugs got popular a few years back so I had some in stock. Seeded a few floors with ‘em.” 

“You can use two different types of guns?” Akira said, then felt a little embarrassed once the question left his mouth. Despite having never fired even an Airsoft gun before, he’d… known how to, somehow, when Arsène had lodged its name in his soul and forged his pistol out of the worlds in-between. Iwai, on the other hand, likely hadn’t needed a Persona to teach him how to use a gun. Any gun. 

Iwai’s laugh was humourless. “Kid, you’re fishin’ like the police girl.”

“We should head out. Bring the others in. This Palace’s like nothing I’ve seen before.”

“Yeah? It’s been pretty nostalgic for me.” 

Akira blinked. “You’ve been to Kowloon?” 

“Kowloon what?”

“This place. Akec… ah, I thought it was Kowloon Walled City.” 

“No it ain’t.” Iwai said, and methodically tucked the lollipop stick to the other side of his mouth. “Guess there ain’t any reason why you’d have seen it before neither. It’s made up of rooms and places from Kamagasaki. Layered up on each other.” 

“Where’s that?” Akira asked, even as Akechi materialised on the edge of the roof, hands folded behind his back. Iwai twitched upright, then relaxed with a snort back into the chair.

“It’s the biggest slum in Japan,” Akechi said, walking in a playful march along the edge. “It’s in Osaka. Not found on official maps. I was wondering about the signage.”

“New friend after all?” Iwai jerked a thumb at Akechi, glancing at Akira. 

“It’s complicated.” 

Iwai looked closely at Akechi for a long moment. “Huh. Isn’t he the famous kid on TV… the detective?” 

“Was. _Was_. I fought Akira, I died.” Akechi sketched a playful bow.

Iwai snorted. “Bullshit. Akira ain’t no shade of killer. While you are, I think.” 

“Ohh-h. Is this what they say in English, ‘birds of a feather’? A killer can sense another killer?” Akechi grinned broadly, an unfriendly smile. 

“Akechi. Come back.” Akira concentrated, and Akechi glowered at him for a moment before disintegrating, his curled mouth the last fragment to fade. 

“Can’t say I like him,” Iwai said. “Think he used to talk a lot of shit about you on TV, yeah?”

“He sacrificed himself for the rest of us at the end,” Akira said. It was hard not to sound defensive. “You said this place was nostalgic.” 

“Grew up here. _He_ did too, I think. Wasn’t sure before. We weren’t so different, he used to like to tell me. Leave Osaka thinkin’ we’d make it big in Tokyo. You make one wrong step, then another, then by the time you realize you’ve fucked up somewhere, sometimes you don’t care anymore.” Iwai plucked the lollipop out from his mouth, briefly. “I used to smoke. Still kinda miss it.” 

“Why did you stop?” 

“The smell of the smoke used to make Kaoru cry.” Iwai sighed. “Why’re you here, kid?” 

“Back to ‘kid’, are we?” Akira didn’t bother to hide his annoyance. Iwai tensed up as he stalked over, and the chair creaked alarmingly under their weight, Akira straddling powerful thighs, hands clenched in the lapels of Iwai’s black coat. “Why do you think I’m here, _old man_?” 

“You’re fuckin’ stubborn, is what you are.”

“ _I’m_ stubborn? _You_ came in here without back-up.” 

“You kids would just get in the way.” Iwai was keeping his hands to himself. Akira scowled, trying to scoot closer, but fingers caught his hips quickly and pushed. “Get off.”

Akira dug in his heels. “We’ve stolen a few Treasures. Survived Mementos, taken out a God. We’re not amateurs. Tell me how we would’ve ‘gotten in the way’.” 

“Didn’t say you were amateurs. How’s Kaoru?”

“You’re changing the subject. He’s fine, by the way. Pissed off. Currently a free intern for Sae Niijima. If we don’t rescue him soon, he’s going to end up joining the legal profession and ruining his own life.” 

“Police girl’s big shot prosecutor sister, eh. I remember she got you out of jail.”

“She’s a defense lawyer now. But she still has some contacts. Makoto said she’d ask her sister to hide Kaoru in witness protection or something until all this blows over.”

“Yeah. Was hopin’ it’d get to that.” Iwai relaxed. “When I asked the police girl to take you both in.”

“What did you send the _kumicho_?” 

“Just somethin’ I thought would get his attention. Said I wanted to meet. That if he made a move against Kaoru, or you, I had a friend who’d send his real name to all the newspapers.”

“If you wanted to piss him off, it worked. Tsuda said so.” 

“Yeah, I figured. Was hopin’ it wouldn’t matter much. Thought I could take care of things before it got too far. But this place is way bigger than Aoki’s.” 

Akira sighed. “Mune… usually, changing a heart means having to… scope out a way in, then establish a quick infiltration route near the Treasure, and _then_ head out to the real world and issue a calling card. If you’ve done it like Mishima was doing it, it’d be risky. The calling card raises the security level to a full alert. If you don’t yet have a way to the Treasure, reaching it is going to be impossible. It’s a process that takes at least a couple of days.” 

Iwai didn’t even hesitate. “I knew it was gonna be hard.” 

_Unless_ , Akechi prompted, in Akira’s mind. 

“Unless you’re _not_ looking to get to the Treasure,” Akira said. _Yes, that’s it,_ Akechi whispered. “You’re just here to eliminate the Cleaner.” 

“‘The Cleaner’? That what you kids call him?” 

“Mune.” 

“… Tch. Just… go, all right? Forget you came in here.” 

“Why’d you go down to the fourth floor?”

“I heard there was a disturbance over one of the bugs. Thought it might be the boss.” 

“If you kill his Shadow, you’ll kill him.” Iwai said nothing. “Didn’t you leave all that behind? When you adopted Kaoru?” 

“I think it’s been made pretty clear to me lately that I can’t leave nothin’ behind,” Iwai said. “There ain’t no turnin’ over a new leaf, no second chances. The reckonin’ only gets delayed. Tsuda’s got my back, but he’s lost standin’ in the Hashiba-gumi, especially with the younger ‘uns. Other lieutenants are gonna have seen the boss jerkin’ me around. They’d remember that, next time they think I can do them a favour.”

“He said he’d leave you alone if we told him who the culprit was.”

“Yeah? And you’re just gonna toss that friend of yours to him?” Iwai sniffed. “Don’t think you’re that kinda person. ‘Sides, you weren’t listenin’. If you did a favour for him, he was gonna leave _you_ alone. Didn’t say nothin’ about me.” 

“You think killing him is going to solve that? Won’t it make things worse? His lieutenants will be out for revenge, won’t they?” 

“Them? They’d be too busy tryin’ to be the next boss. ‘Sides, it’d tell them I’m not to be messed with.” 

“You really think this is the only way?” Akira ignored the unsubtle push at his thighs, leaning in. He couldn’t see Iwai’s eyes through the visor, though under him, Iwai tensed up further. 

“Yeah, I do. So get out of here.” 

“Why? I can walk softly, fend off Shadows, and I’ve got supplies.” Akira plucked at the mask on his face, and was a little relieved when it came off. He tossed it to a side and it landed with a heavy metallic clink on the floor beside them. “Besides, I want to watch.” 

“What?” That’d surprised Iwai. Akira reached for the visor, and it came off as well, if with a bit of resistance. Under it, Iwai’s eyes were narrowed, wary. “What the hell for?” 

“Because I think you don’t want me to.” Akira waited, until Iwai looked away, frowning. “You don’t want to do this. You were ashamed of what you were before and you’re ashamed of what you’re doing now. You tried to keep Kaoru from finding out about either.” 

“Didn’t turn out well the first time.” 

“You don’t just want him to have a good life,” Akira prodded Iwai’s shoulder. “You also want him to be proud of having you as a father. Do you really think this is going to help?”

“If it’d keep him safe.” Iwai blew out a sigh. “If it’d keep you safe—”

“Don’t you _dare_ pin this on us.” Akira glared at Iwai, clenching his hands tightly in his coat. “You said you took one wrong step, before, then another, until you became what you were. But you found the right way forward again. I _know_ you still care whether you’re making the right choices. So _don’t_ get lazy on us.” 

“Lazy, am I?” Iwai growled, his hands tightening on Akira’s hips, painfully so, then he hissed, surprised, as Akira dragged him over. 

They bit as they kissed, bleeding frustration, Iwai freezing for a moment before hauling him flush, the chair tilting with a warning groan but balancing back up. Akira couldn’t have cared less if they’d tumbled over. He scratched at Iwai’s shoulders and bit harder until he could taste blood on his tongue, until Iwai jerked against him with a muffled curse, cock twitching against Akira’s ass. Iwai licked into his mouth, his breaths loose and unsteady, and this time they kissed until all their anger and exasperation had bled out. The wound between them, lanced clean. 

“Goddamnit.” Iwai nuzzled his throat, his words hot against Akira’s pulse. “Goddamnit, Akira.”

“Think the words you’re looking for are ‘Thank you, Akira’.” 

Iwai nipped him, hard enough to sting, then he laughed, his face buried against the hollow of Akira’s throat, rueful. Surrendering. “Fuck you.” 

“Right now?”

“Don’t sound so fuckin’ smug.” Iwai was stroking warm hands up and down his back, gently now. “Y’know. That Mishima kid said you were always surrounded by girls.”

“I have male friends as well,” Akira said, leaning back to get a close look at Iwai’s face. “Don’t tell me this is going where I think it’s going.”

“Where?” 

“You, lecturing me, about how I should get a boyfriend or girlfriend my age?” 

“I was thinkin’ about it,” Iwai admitted. “But it’s kinda obvious to me now that you’re just gonna laugh in my face and then be smug all over again.”

“You’re learning.” Akira leaned back in for another kiss.

#

Leaving Dominion was still as draining as the Metaverse had been. With the others briefed, Akira bought supplies, yawning, and let Iwai hustle them both somewhere in the outskirts of Shinjuku. He _did_ laugh when he realized Iwai’s destination was an out-of-the-way love hotel with discreet signage.

“And they say romance is dead,” Akira said, grinning impishly.

Iwai rolled his eyes. “Funny. We weren’t followed. Places like these are anonymous. Check in’s automated. We need someplace to shower and sleep.” 

“I’m not complaining. Are we picking a castle room? Mickey Mouse room?”

“This ain’t that kinda place,” Iwai said, though he seemed amused again as he paid up. 

The lift rattled a little as they went, and disgorged them into a narrow corridor, but the room was neat and clean… and surprisingly… _boring_. It looked just like any hotel room: there was a bed with colourful cushions, a nice striped carpet, even a window with a view. They took turns to clean up in the tiny bathroom, and Akira emerged to find Iwai sitting on the bed, staring at his phone. Iwai had stripped down to his pants, leaving the unassuming collared shirt and scarf of his disguise hanging in the wardrobe, the bag of his gear tucked out of sight. 

“You _could_ call Kaoru,” Akira suggested.

“If police girl’s right, and they’ve got him in a proper witness protection program for now, he won’t have his phone with him. Trackable. The police aren’t idiots.” Iwai nodded at Akira’s old clothes and phone on the desk. “You should’a bought a burner.”

“Futaba installed her own security on all our phones.” Akira leaned against Iwai’s back, arms stretched over his shoulders. “He’ll be fine.”

“He’ll be pissed.”

“What’s new?” Akira kissed the gecko tattoo against Iwai’s neck and got swatted for his trouble. “If you want to talk to him, Makoto probably could arrange it through Sae.” 

“Nah. Best not to risk it.” Iwai left the phone on the side table. “Some kinda father I am.”

“You’re the only person who’s tried to be one to him,” Akira pointed out. “That counts for something.”

“And if you hadn’t talked me out of things earlier—”

“Like you’ve said. Some people fuck up more than once in their lives.” Akira poked Iwai’s nose, and got another halfhearted swat, but Iwai sobered up quickly, his fingers clasped between his knees, twisting together. 

“I _have_ killed people before,” he said finally. 

“Mune…” 

“Just listen, all right? That day, when the police girl kinda tried to ask me about it. I’ve gotten good at avoidin’ that question. Or even just thinkin’ about it. First time was the worst. After that… even the nightmares kinda go away after a while. I was young and an idiot and I liked the money, the status. Risin’ up fast in the Hashiba-gumi was a big deal. The _kumicho_ liked me, said I might someday be in line to be a lieutenant. I had blood brothers. Thought I had family for the first time in my life, real family. Like I said. I was an idiot.” 

“You still left.” 

“Yeah. When that lady abandoned her baby with us… I always kinda liked kids. So I told the others that maybe we could raise the boy. In our family, y’know? We took in kids off the street all the time. Just that they were usually older, angry, dumb kids closer to my age.” 

“But they wanted to sell the baby.” 

“Yeah. There’s a market out there for everythin’.” Iwai shuddered. “Especially for organs. Even from a baby. Parents get desperate, see. They’d pay anythin’ for their own baby to live.” 

“So you saved him.” 

“Yeah. I talked to the _kumicho_. He was pretty understandin’. Said he hadn’t liked the idea of sellin’ little babies either. He let me go, I took the kid. First few years were real tough. He used to get sick a lot and I started runnin’ out of money. But it worked out all right in the end. Or so I thought.” Iwai clenched his fingers tightly over each other. “Maybe I was kinda selfish. I could’ve just given Kaoru up to an orphanage.” 

“Do you think that would’ve been the better choice?” 

“I don’t know. You hear things. Some of the people in the Hashiba-gumi were from orphanages. Most kids don’t get fostered out. Sometimes ugly shit happens. But maybe I was just tryin’ to talk myself out of it. Still lookin’ for family in the wrong places.” 

“I think things worked out.” Akira poked Iwai again. “More than worked out. He’s a good person. And stronger than you think. Family’s not something you find, it’s something you’ve got to build.” 

“Yeah. I got that much.”

“So no more crusades.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Iwai said, twisting around to pull them both down onto the bed. Before Akira could scramble up for a kiss, Iwai caught his chin gently, pulling off his glasses to tuck them aside. “Been real lucky twice in my life. First time was meetin’ Kaoru. Second time was runnin’ into you.” 

“As long as you don’t ever forget that,” Akira teased, which finally got him a laugh, and then the kiss he’d been angling for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://www.japantimes.co.jp/news/2014/03/24/national/nations-biggest-slum-cannot-be-found-on-maps-or-at-osaka-film-fest/#.WRBNRlOGOJQ  
> http://wordpress.tokyotimes.org/kamagasaki-japans-biggest-slum/  
> https://de.oyster.com/articles/53019-the-evolution-of-the-japanese-love-hotel-the-good-the-bad-and-the-naughty/  
> http://www.economist.com/news/asia/21700726-new-law-will-make-it-less-absurdly-hard-adopt-orphans-japan


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a two chapter update.

#

Waking up in the Velvet Room was nothing new, but today it was empty. A dream, maybe? His unprompted Velvet Room visits always had a touch of unreality to them, a semi-lucid helplessness. Akira was in his Joker gear, at least, though the crow-feather mask was hooked on his belt. He made a slow circuit of the broken chamber, hands pressed into his coat pockets, and when he finished the loop, Akechi was sitting primly at Igor’s desk, cheek resting on a palm. As before, he was in his school uniform.

“You’ve aged, you know,” Akechi said, beaming. “Visibly. A little around the eyes. You’re less skinny, too. You’ve always acted like you were older than your years. It’s less annoying now that you _are_ an adult.” 

Akechi would never become an adult. Locked forever one way or the other: part Persona, or part high school student. Akira nodded, sober. “Glad to know that you find me slightly less annoying.” 

“Don’t get used to it. Iwai had the right idea. Kill the _kumicho_ , and the problem’s instantly solved. Now you’re going to have to play defense for two days when you’re out in the real world. While you’re tired.” 

“Maybe not. I’ve got an idea about that.” 

“You and your ideas.” Akira sniffed. “I should’ve noticed that day that the ‘you’ I killed was a fake. But I was being sentimental. Triumph had blinded me.” 

“It would’ve been a pretty good fake.” 

“It was risky. Had I even suspected anything for a moment, I would have returned to reality and killed you there.” 

“I’m curious,” Akira said, as he sauntered over, leaning a hip against Igor’s table. “Iwai said that the first time was the hardest. Who was the first person you killed?”

“Face to face? It would’ve been you.” Akechi laughed. “For days afterwards I thought I truly had killed you. Nightmares? I didn’t get nightmares. I’m stronger than that.” 

“It’s not a question of strength.” Akira folded his arms. “You probably would’ve had a Palace yourself, if you weren’t a Wild Card.” 

“And so?” Akechi smirked. “You’d have come to save my soul? My white knight?” 

“I like to think everyone can be saved.” 

“Hmph. That annoying naivety again. Hope is a trap. It’s an irrational wish that things will work out in your favour. I don’t trust luck.” 

Akira smiled. “Without hope there’d be no drive to change an ugly world.” 

Akechi snorted. “That’s so human of you. I thought that becoming an avatar of a Demon God would have burned that from you.” 

“What’s wrong with being human?” 

“It’s another word for ‘mediocre’. ‘Human’ is the baseline.” 

“I’d call it a description, not a baseline.” Akira countered. “Being human is a privilege. As sentient creatures we have custody of this world. We have a responsibility. Not just to the world but to those of us who will come after.” 

“Akira the politician.” Akechi’s lip curled tightly. “Not bad for a stump speech.” 

“I can’t abide waste,” Akira retorted. “And most of all, I can’t abide cruelty. I’m sorry about what has happened to you, I really am. But atonement is a process. One where you need to understand where _you_ went wrong. Lack of self-awareness is a disease that inflicts far too many people. If you blame everyone for something but yourself, you can never move forward.” 

“I sacrificed my _life_ ,” Akechi snarled, shoving himself up from the table. 

“Why?” 

“It was the right thing to do!” 

“You could have trusted us!” The words were clawing out, bitter on his tongue. “We could’ve faced all those Shadows together. We’ve faced worse odds before. You wanted to escape!” 

“So what if I did?” Akechi bared his teeth. “My plans were in ruins, my life was over! All those plans I had, all the fame I cultivated—”

“You could’ve started over.” Akira slapped a hand down on the desk. “I could’ve helped you. We all would have.”

“Help? A mass murderer, _help_? Akira, I’ve killed far more people in total by design and in collateral damage than your Mune and the Cleaner added together, I think. Sae would’ve ensured that I went to prison for life. _You_ were innocent and still went to prison.” Akechi shook his head, chuckling, raking a hand up over his face. “You’re so naive.” 

“Death is never the answer.” 

“And there you go again. Still. Your naivety has its uses.” Akechi pushed away from the desk, passing his hand over his eyes, and Loki’s horns arced out from his skull, the black armour folding over his school uniform. “I had a long time in the Sea of Souls to think my mistakes over. And about the nature of second chances.” 

Akira backed off warily, shading his eyes as a chill wind kicked up, dragging his coat and fringe back. “What do you mean?” 

“I’ve been getting stronger. Each Shadow I kill makes me stronger still. I would have taken over Mishima eventually. That boy has a weak mind and doting parents. It would have been perfect. You, however, you’d do just as well.” Akechi stalked closer, grinning, merciless. “I wanted to be you once. Now, you’re even better. Studying in Todai, a junior aide position in the Diet… you should have taken up with Okimura. She was infatuated with you, did you know? It would have been perfect. Her money and her connections would have opened all the doors you’d have needed. But I suppose it’s not yet too late.” 

“I don’t want to fight you,” Akira said, standing his ground. 

“You _can’t_ fight me. Naive, so naive. I’m a Persona, Akira. While you have the _privilege_ of only being human. If I kill you here, or bind you here, I can take over up above. My second chance.” Akechi’s clawed hand shot out, towards Akira’s face—

—only for a gloved hand to catch him firmly by the wrist. Behind her mask, Haru smiled sweetly. “I thought I heard my name.” 

“You! How? That’s not possible!” Akechi wrenched free, backing up a step. Haru’s form was translucent, near luminous, as were the other forms that ghosted into focus beside him: Ryuji, Yusuke, Ann, everyone. 

“So that’s the genius detective huh?” Sojiro peered, adjusting his round glasses. “Doesn’t look like much.” 

“Tch. He talked so much crap about you on TV. Mom used to make me change the channel ‘cos I’d get mad.” Shinya folded his little arms, the kid still in the middle of his growth spurt. 

“It’s getting crowded in here,” Ohya chimed in. “We gonna kick his ass soon or what?” 

“Kinda knew he was gonna be trouble,” Iwai said, a hand brushing lightly against the small of Akira’s back. “Sure this is all right?” 

“They’re not truly here,” Akira said, stepping forward. A shard of light lanced down, only to deflect away as Mercurius flit before it. “But in a way, they’re always with me. Do you understand? No man is an island. The people you love will change you. They’ll always be a part of you.”

Another burst of energy surged forward, and Ryuji stepped in the way, deflecting it with a swing of his bat, grinning. “I’ve been lucky in my friends,” Akira continued, stepping around Ryuji with a nod. “But if you’d given us a chance, you could’ve been lucky the way I was lucky too.” 

“Stay away from me,” Akechi hissed, stepping back. 

“It’s not too late yet. Morgana’s looking for a way to become human. Maybe there’s something that can be done for you as well.” Akira held out a hand, but Akechi flinched away.

“I tried to steal your life from you again and… why don’t you hate me?”

“I won’t give anyone my hatred. What would be the point of that? Forgiveness, though… that’s something else.” Akira smiled. “I forgive you. Again.” 

“How can you just _say_ that? I’ve hurt you. Tried to destroy you and your friends. Tried to kill you twice.”

“Call it part of the privilege of being human.” 

Akechi started to laugh, softly at first, then in brittle, jagged gasps, crouching, his clawed hands skittering over his horns, his black helm. Akira steeled himself, stepping closer, and Akechi flinched as Akira hugged him tightly. Claws pressed against his back, then Akechi began to shake, his face buried against Akira’s shoulder, the great wings shuddering in the air, slowly disintegrating. 

“I didn’t want to die,” Akechi whispered, the words broken between sobs. “I was so afraid. I didn’t want to die.” 

“It’s all right.” Akira patted his back, as though comforting a child. “You’re okay.” He hummed nonsense words until Akechi stopped shaking. The wings were melting into ink, along with the rest of the Loki armour, hissing as they fed against the stone, shying away from Akira. The last of Lavenza’s so-called utter human malice.

The small feathery wings that remained stretched, shivering, then lengthened, flaring out into a familiar, great black span, tattered pinions fluttering in the still air of the in-between world. Akechi’s olive uniform bled into a high-collared crimson jacket, and as he pulled away from Akira, a cravat fed out over his close-fitting black vest. 

“Somehow fitting,” Akechi said, as he lifted his new top hat from his head, studying it. “Though the hat’s excessive, if you ask me.” It shortened obligingly, and the boots fed down to knee-length. “That’s better.” He put it back on his head, his smile wan. “Akira, you always completely destroy any conclusion I come to about you.” 

“Glad to hear.” 

“Someday you’ll shake the world itself.” Akechi predicted, and this time, when Akira reached for him, he clasped their hands together without hesitation. “And I’d like to be there to see it.”

20xx 10/14

“You’re in a good mood this mornin’,” Iwai said, as he started to pull on his boots.

“Could have been better.” Akira stretched pointedly on the bed, rubbing his hand playfully down his belly, and then he was yelping as Iwai tickled him in the ribs. 

“Stop that. Long day today. Pretty sure you don’t wanna be limpin’. Or late,” Iwai added, when Akira opened his mouth to protest that there were other things they could’ve done. “But I’ll make it up to you after. All right?” 

Akira grumbled. “After this, you’re going to have to treat all of us to sushi. At that place.”

“Haah? You wanna bankrupt me?”

“And we’re going to go somewhere nice for breakfast. Because I’m missing out on LeBlanc coffee.” 

“Fine, fine.” 

Iwai was less tense after breakfast, and by the time they threaded through to Dominion, he appeared his usual, calmer self. Makoto was already waiting for them. Akira had sent out the _kumicho’s_ true name last night over the group, and everyone available was going to phase in quietly in staggered sets, to avoid suspicion. 

“Morning,” Makoto greeted them, with a polite nod at Iwai. Morgana peeked out from the bag she had over her shoulder. 

“Joker!” At Morgana’s pointed squirming, Makoto handed over the bag with a faint smile. “It was horrible! Sae-san wanted to feed me cat kibble! Don’t leave me alone again.” 

“Sister didn’t think that it was healthy for a cat to eat sushi,” Makoto explained. “Kaoru’s been put in a police safehouse, by the way. He’s none too happy about it, but I think he understands.” 

“Thanks.” Iwai nodded back, then to Akira’s surprise, added, “Sorry ‘bout the trouble.” 

“Not a problem.” 

Haru and Futaba were next, with bright smiles and a bag. “Iwai-san, we bought what you told us to,” Haru said. “From Akihabara.”

“I found it, she paid,” Futaba explained. “Also, Sojiro wanted to make bento for everyone once he realized where I was going, but I told him to save it for dinner. So. Dinner at my place!” 

“Give it here.” Iwai took the bag from them, and sat down, methodically assembling its contents. By the time he’d finished, Yusuke had phased in, and finally, looking sheepish, Mishima. 

Yusuke and Akira clasped hands, then he left Yusuke watching Iwai curiously while he approached Mishima. “Thanks for coming.”

“Eh.” Mishima managed a weak smile. “This is kinda my fault.”

“Not all of it.” 

“I’ll make up for it. I can do this. The courier’s all set up. Once I get the signal from you guys, I’ll step outside the Palace and confirm the order. I’ll deliver it myself if I have to.”

“Probably not a good idea,” Iwai said, getting to his feet and handing Mishima a walkie talkie. He pressed a button on his, and Mishima’s crackled. “There. Two way system. Military grade, so it’d work while we’re in there. Try not to talk unless you really have to. You’ll give away our position.”

“I won’t mess this up,” Mishima assured him earnestly. “And. I’m really sorry about everything?” 

“Hai, hai. If everythin’ works out, let’s just move on. But,” Iwai said, thoughtful, “if you pull shit like this again and get Akira into trouble…” He narrowed his eyes. “It won’t make me happy. Understand?”

“Eep! I won’t. Promise.” Mishima waited until Iwai nodded amiably and wandered off to the front of the alley before exhaling. “Really your boyfriend?” he murmured to Akira. 

“Yes.” Akira patted him on the shoulder. “Hide here, and don’t draw attention.” 

“Good luck.” Mishima said firmly. “Not that I think you guys will need it. You’re the Phantom Thieves, after all.”

#

They made it to the roof with no incident. “This is as far as I got,” Iwai said, nodding at the barred roof entrance.

“Yoshiha’s treasure was in an Emperor’s box in a Coliseum,” Makoto said. “Any idea where the Cleaner’s treasure might be? In all the places in Kamagasaki?” 

“Nope. I didn’t even know for sure that he was born there until all this. The best sweepers are like ghosts. You don’t know much about them, don’t even see them until it’s too late.” 

“It’ll take us far too long to sweep all the rooms,” Futaba said, scanning her data. “The data streams are incredibly complex.” 

“Hmm,” Makoto tapped at her chin thoughtfully. “I did what research I could about Kamagasaki last night after Joker gave me the keywords. There are some core places that might work. Places where someone would have strong memories. But there was a photograph that struck me. There was a courtyard with a tv, locked in an upraised cage.” 

“Heh, I remember that.” Iwai shook his head. “Only workin’ tv in the area. Turned on a coupl’a hours a day. Everyone would gather in the courtyard to watch. Until I came to Tokyo, I didn’t think tvs were somethin’ normal people just had in their house.” 

“It’d be in the centre of this place, wouldn’t it?” Akira started walking across the concrete roof, only to yelp as the floor beneath his feet gave way. 

There was a sharp moment of vertigo, as warm darkness yawned beneath him, then his fall was abruptly arrested, and he was being lifted up into the air. _Pay attention_ , Akechi scolded him, as the feathery wings deposited him back on the edge. 

“Handy,” Iwai said. He was a little pale. 

“Those wings! Akira, a dark angel. I wish I brought my sketchbook,” Yusuke said, patting himself down. “An oversight. I’ve been careless.”

Morgana crept warily over to the edge, and peered under. “The roof doesn’t have support at parts. It’s a trap. If we move slowly and watch where we step, I think we should be OK.” 

“I’ll go first,” Akira decided. 

It was slow going, and at one point they had to climb over to a separate section of rooftops, break into a roof garden and squeeze around a water tank, but eventually they got to the other edge of the rooftops. The Palace stretched to their left and right, forming a high wall around a square central courtyard, far below. Akira couldn’t make out the details, but there was some sort of raised cage on a pole in the centre. 

“Is that… further down than we had to go climbing up here?” Haru said, shading her eyes. 

“ _Much_ further down,” Futaba agreed unhappily. “I am _so_ not good at athletics checks, by the way.” 

“If we take it slow and easy, we’ll get down.” Iwai pulled out the grapple and rope from his bag. “One at a time.”

“Are we not just making a guess that it’s in that cage?” Yusuke asked. “Although there is a certain neatness to this aesthetic.”

“You got other ideas?” Iwai asked, scowling. He was balanced on the edge of the roof, ready to grapple down.

“I don’t like making a guess either,” Makoto said, stepping between them. “But short of going floor by floor in this massive area, which might take days, it’s best to do it as logically as we can.” 

Getting to the ground floor was fun—at least for Akira. Akechi’s wings made hopping from windowsills to air conditioning sets easy, and he took the last three floors in a dive, skipping out of it at the last moment with a flashy furl of his wings and a whoop of excitement from Morgana, perched on his shoulder. Above, Haru laughed, and he could hear a distant, “Showoff,” from Iwai. 

_The cage_ , Akechi prompted, though he felt amused. Akira obligingly sauntered over towards the pole. The courtyard was empty of Shadows, bisected by rusting chain link fences. _Strange,_ Akechi said. _The detail._

“Too much like real life?” Akira was careful to keep his voice as low as possible. 

_Yes. I’m thinking about it._ Akechi fell silent as Akira threaded through a gap in the fence, jogging over to the pole. within the cage, equally rusty, was an empty television set. 

“Huh. Not the Treasure.”

“Funny thing about that.” The Cleaner stepped around from the shadows behind the pole, thumbs curled in his belt. He was dressed up like a Shogun, black robes and all, seemingly unarmed. “You guys really thought a dinged up old tv was my Treasure? Don’t fuckin’ make me laugh.” 

“Akira…” Morgana hissed. 

“What was it, then?” Akira asked, forcing insouciance. 

“You think I’d just leave it somewhere? In a place like this? Someone will nick it.” The Cleaner leaned a hip against the pole, folding his arms. His eyes were golden yellow, Shadow eyes. He patted a spot over his heart. “I keep it right here. Close to my heart.”

“Then we’re just going to have to take it from you.” 

“Hah! I like you, boy. Think the other me did too. But you don’t understand sufferin’, the way we do. You know what it’s like to be hungry? To have to beg people for an onigiri so you can eat somethin’ for the first time in three days?” 

“Does suffering give you the right to do what you want?” Akira countered. “Stand outside the law? Kill people?” 

“Kid, nothin’ in life gives you the _right_ to do anythin’,” the Cleaner said, as the others caught up to them. “It’s a question of whether you got the strength to make it happen. You want my Treasure? Don’t fuckin’ mess with calling cards and shit. Just come and get it.” 

“… Now what?” Iwai asked, as the Cleaner twisted back sharply, melting into shadows, his back arching at an unnatural angle. 

“We kick his ass?” Akira suggested. 

“… How is this different from what I wanted to do?” Iwai said, though he smirked, and before Akira could say something, Iwai had drawn his pistol, cocking and firing in a smooth motion. The part-Shadow Cleaner screamed, clutching at his upper arm, one leg folding under him, but he translated into ink and crimson anyway, pooling upward, outward. A great serpentine head surged out of the mass, then another and another, and a flick of a huge tail sundered the pole beside it. 

“Someday,” Morgana said from Akira’s shoulder, wide-eyed, “we _will_ do an infiltration without ever having to fight the Shadow boss inside it.” 

“I’ll believe it when that happens.” The Cleaner had become an eight-headed serpent, each head as long as Akira was tall, its coils curled across a quarter of the courtyard. One head was drooping, a great wound bleeding from its forehead, and it snarled in pain from seven different throats, one breathing deep. 

“Scatter!” Morgana yelped, and Akira darted to a side as a gout of fire seared the ground he’d been standing on. Somewhere, Iwai was cursing, shoulder to shoulder with Haru as they unloaded on the closest head, and Yusuke was darting closer, hand on his katana hilt, only to have to lunge to a side as a head snapped at him, jaws clanging shut inches away. Makoto landed on it, grabbing one horn for leverage and punching down with her other fist, then Anat flared into light, hands upraised, a ball of energy engulfing the snout. 

Akira clenched his fist. Shards of light embedded themselves through the serpentine necks, pinning one to the concrete and setting the rest to agonised writhing. The Cleaner snarled, loud enough that Akira winced, clapping his hands over his ears. _Akira!_ Akechi snapped, and Akira overbalanced with a gasp as wings pulled him sideways. Jaws snapped shut, close enough for Akira to smell something foul and charnel-hot. 

Yusuke cried out. One of the heads had him by the knees, shaking him like a doll, though it let go with a roar as Haru fired point blank into its eye, her Persona flaring up, supercharging the shot. “Mercurius!” Morgana commanded, leaping away from Akira, sprinting over as his Persona manifested in a burst of blue light. Healing energy poured into Yusuke, just as a second head shot back towards him, viper quick. A whistling sound—it angled sharply away, snout ploughing into the concrete, going still. Iwai shouted something at Yusuke as he reloaded. 

_Closer_ , Akechi told him, and Akira ducked under a bite, rolling to get under one serpent head’s throat. He swiped up with his dagger, and as the tip sliced into scale it flared, charging up into a broadsword of red light, Akechi’s hand clasped above his on the hilt. Severed, the stump twisted back, melting into ink. 

The others were cleaning up. Heads faded one by one into shadow, until only the Cleaner remained, down on one knee, grimacing and out of breath. He laughed as they approached, guns drawn, and shook his head. “The old givin’ way to the new. Eh, Mune?” 

“Wasn’t like that,” Iwai said. “I owed you a favour and I would’a paid it, if you’d let me do it by myself. Didn’t have to come to this.” 

The Cleaner bowed his head, breathing shallowly. “The people I once asked you to kill,” he said after a while. “You ever think about them?”

“Sometimes.” Iwai admitted. He didn’t look at Makoto. “Life always calls its dues, sooner or later. I accept that. Someday I’ll pay for what I’ve done. But I’ve got things I got to do first.” 

“Maybe it ain’t strength that I didn’t have,” the Cleaner said, sitting back, as he began to fade from the fingertips. “Conviction, that’s what you had. You were never cut out to be a sweeper, y’know. You cared too much about people.” 

“You better call off the dogs, boss.” Iwai said, though he tipped his hat down a fraction, shading his eyes. Morgana slipped forward excitedly, as something floated down from where the Cleaner had been. 

“… A train ticket!?” Morgana actually fluffed up in his outrage. “That’s it?” 

“Heh.” Iwai stooped, swiping up the ticket and tucking it away. “Osaka to Tokyo and a better life.”

“Mune…” Akira stepped closer, concerned, but Iwai ignored him, distant. 

“I was hoping we’d have something to sell,” Morgana muttered, oblivious. “I like celebrations.”

“Hai, hai. Sushi, right? My treat.” Iwai looked to the side, where the downed pole and broken tv cage still lay, as the Palace began to sunder apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Akira’s quote on hope: https://www.theguardian.com/books/2017/may/06/russian-revolution-matter-china-mieville
> 
> Click on for the last chapter!


	10. Chapter 10

epilogue

20xx 10/16

“… So I heard you kids went up against the yakuza,” Sojiro said, as Akira had his first cup of coffee for the day. “Really?”

“It’s sorted,” Akira said, trying to project confidence. “Where’d you hear that from?” 

“You weren’t home and there were more cops around than usual, just hanging nearby, so I called the older Niijima sister. Honestly, you kids. Nearly dying once not enough for you?” 

“Life is short anyway?” 

“Hahh…” Sojiro rubbed a hand over his eyes. “No more heart attacks, please. I thought every phonecall I got that day would be from the police, telling me they’d found your body or something. I’ll grow gray hair at this rate.”

“Even more gray hair?” 

“Smartass. I could make you pay rent,” Sojiro said, a now common if halfhearted threat, and Akira grinned, about to make a retort when the door jingled, opening. “Oi.” Sojiro turned. “We’re not open yet.” 

“Sorry,” Iwai said, a little sheepishly. “Just dropping something off. Kaoru made you some bento.” He handed a wrapped package to Akira as Akira approached. “I’m heading off to the store.”

“You guys all right?” Akira asked. 

“Think so? Talk later,” Iwai said, but Akira grabbed him by the wrist, nodded at a bemused Sojiro, and dragged Iwai upstairs. Morgana shot off as Akira pulled Iwai down for a fumbling kiss: Iwai tensed up and muttered, “Hey, won’t you get in trouble with your boss—”

“Think he’s already guessed.” Akira kissed Iwai playfully on the nose, and Iwai sighed, pulling him closer, brushing a kiss over his throat. “So when are we all getting sushi?” 

“Heh. Didn’t you say you wanted to wait until some friends of yours come back from wherever? By the way,” Iwai said, more soberly, “Tsuda got in contact. Said the contract’s been called off. Boss’ been holed up, supposedly sick. Guess that worked?”

“Hopefully.” 

“Shit.” Iwai looked uncomfortable. “I kinda wanted Kaoru to stay in witness protection until we were really sure, but he had other ideas. Stubborn kid.”

“He does that. Wonder where he gets it from.” Akira nipped Iwai’s stubbled jaw, and Iwai kissed him, still trying to be quiet, soft and uneven. 

“Thanks,” Iwai said, nearly inaudibly. “For everythin’.” 

“Get used to it,” Akira told him, and Iwai laughed. Later, when he was gone and Akira was finishing his coffee, Sojiro cleared his throat, wiping his hands down on a kitchen towel. 

“So. That person.” 

“Yes?”

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Sojiro said delicately. “Looked like trouble.” 

“Life would be boring without trouble.” Akira grinned. 

“Haii. Between you and Futaba, I’m definitely going to be retiring before my time.”

20xx 10/20

The bowl of crisps was due for a refill when Iwai poured himself out of his room and towards the bathroom to clean up. He looked vaguely surprised to see Kaoru and Akira at the couch and coffee table, surrounded by textbooks, but he yawned and kept walking. Kaoru didn’t even blink, asking Akira another English question. They were discussing syntaxes when Iwai slunk out, still pulling on a clean shirt, bleary-eyed as the coffee machine started up.

“Study group?” Iwai asked, once coffee had apparently jumpstarted his brain into something more human and he had forged through breakfast. Kaoru nodded. 

“Morning,” Akira said, plastering on an archly bright smile. 

Iwai groaned. “Please don’t. I’m off.” He glanced at Akira. “See you… ah, see you guys later.” 

Kaoru sighed when they were alone. “Still?” 

“He’s _your_ dad.” 

“I keep telling him it’s okay, but I think he’s still weirded out. I mean. I’d rather not know any details, but, this thing where the two of you kinda pretend to be just friends when I’m around is strange. You’ve even only stayed over once, that time when you passed out on the couch.” 

Akira shrugged. “Think he’d be like that with anyone, to be honest.” 

“I guess. It’s not like I have context. Seriously, though. We’ve all already been through enough together. We’re pretty much family.” 

Akira nodded. Family. He’d been lucky enough to collect more of those, each just as precious as the last. “How’re you bearing up?”

“I’m fine. Like I’ve told you. And Dad. Many times.” Kaoru frowned at him. “I wasn’t even the one risking my life.” 

“All right. Just asking.”

“I was wondering though,” Kaoru said, staring down at his notebook, tapping his fingers nervously on the edge. “Now that you’re, well, you’re a Phantom Thief again. What next? Are you going to keep doing what you used to?” 

“What do you think?”

“I really hate it when you do that. Answering questions with questions.” Kaoru looked briefly glum. “Knowing you, I think you won’t be able to resist getting into trouble.”

“That’s such a terrible way of putting it.” _But true,_ Akechi whispered, chuckling, all warmth. “But true. Mune doesn’t have to come, though.” 

“And you think you can stop him from following you if he thinks you need his help?” Kaoru sniffed. “I know him. But more importantly, I know you. I trust you. Besides, he’s been happier. He used to…” Kaoru trailed off briefly, hesitant. “I think I can guess what he used to do in the yakuza. He hated talking about guns to me, even the Airsoft ones. I think he was ashamed of it all.”

“You could say that.”

“But the past few days? It’s been different. It’s like something that’s been weighing on him all this time has come free. Like he’s found something that he was good at that he could be proud of.” Kaoru stared keenly at Akira. “So I’d rather you didn’t decide to leave Dad out of things. Especially if you think it’d be for my sake.” 

“If he wants to come along, he’ll be welcome,” Akira decided, and turned a page in his textbook. “Now talk to me about sequencing.” 

“Hai, hai.”

20xx 10/22

“The cards changed.” Chihaya beamed. “You did it! You survived the red room!”

“ _We_ did it,” Akira corrected. 

“Ehh? I don’t think I did anything?” 

“Well wishes help too?” 

“Okay. Ehm. I’ll. Do another reading?” Chihaya said. She had her arms folded, grinning in sheer relief. “For a better future?” 

“That’s all right.” Akira had enough of fate for now—at least for himself. “Not for me. But I’d like a reading on another person. A friend of mine, Goro Akechi.”

“Hrm… that tv detective?” Chihaya looked surprised. “He disappeared after the Shido matter, didn’t he? What happened?”

“You tell me,” Akira said, with a nod at the cards, and Chihaya stared keenly at him for a moment, then she shrugged, and began to draw cards. Within, Akechi was quiet, meditative, as they looked through a window into tomorrow.

20xx 10/23

The Shinjuku Room, as Akira had come to think of it in his mind, was rather more prosaic than he imagined. It was a relatively tiny space, smaller than the ground floor of LeBlanc, and had a kitchen, a bathroom, a bed. The only things out of place were steel hoops above the headboard of the bed and a chair set in the centre of the room, bolted to the floor. He was investigating the wardrobe curiously when the door opened, and Iwai slipped in, furtive and quick.

“Seriously, Akira, this isn’t funny—” Iwai began in a growl, then he blinked and froze. 

Akira grinned wickedly. He’d had to take a small loan from Haru to find what he’d wanted, and even then, Ann had to help him find some of the items. The mask he wore on his face was a generic black Venetian mask from a costume shop, but the rest had been close to perfect: his long coat with the deep cuffs, the close-fitting vest and black shirt, the soft black pants, the sharp-tipped boots. And of course the red leather gloves, stretched tight over his knuckles. He wore the Tkachev II pistol in a holster at his hip, and as Iwai wordlessly closed the door, Akira drew it, aiming playfully. 

“Hands up.” 

“Y’know,” Iwai said, though he locked the door and put up his palms anyway, “if that was a real gun, that ain’t no kinda way to handle it. You’d only point it at someone you’re prepared t’shoot.” 

“On the chair.” 

“Hai, hai.” Iwai was pushing hard to sound insouciant, but he was starting to flush. He sat down, his back to Akira, and hissed when Akira nudged the muzzle of the gun up behind his ear and squeezed him pointedly between his thighs, nearly hard enough to be uncomfortable. 

“Prisoners don’t get to mouth off, Iwai- _san_.” 

Iwai bit off a strangled sound. He was growing hard, pushing into Akira’s grip, and he yelped as Akira pinched him on his inner thigh in warning. “Oi! Easy there.” 

“Wardrobe has a gag. Unless you want to wear that, maybe you should behave yourself, hm?” Akira waited, momentarily doubtful. The information Futaba had dug up on the Shinjuku room had been sketchy, and maybe Akira had come to the wrong conclusion about what Iwai liked to do with the people he used to meet… no, that was definitely another choked groan, badly stifled. He kissed Iwai over the gecko tattoo, and Iwai squirmed, gritting his teeth. 

Akira stole the hat, circling around, playfully using it to fan himself. “Coat, shirt, off.” 

Iwai stared at him, his breathing already unsteady, then he smirked, and shrugged off his coat, letting it drop onto the ground. The turtleneck was next, and Iwai curled his hands around the back of the chair, holding on to the tops of the legs. Showing off? That was new. Akira prowled a circuit, admiring the ink under the warm light, glad that the chair was mostly a steel frame. A dragon was twisted against Iwai’s spine, swarming upwards in great scaly loops around an oni mask, waves twisting beyond talons to wash over Iwai’s arm and the scales of a koi fish. The tiger that Iwai wore over his ribs and other arm seemed to watch Akira has he sauntered back to the front, lips pressed to the muzzle of his gun.

“Akira,” Iwai said soberly. “Hey, the gun. I know it’s meant to be fun and all, but.” 

“Not your thing?” Akira obligingly holstered it, and Iwai relaxed. 

“Yeah, not for me. Seen what the real thing can do to someone. Sorry.” 

“It’s all right.” Iwai straightened up as Akira pushed a knee between his thighs, nudging them wide, leaning in. He let Iwai kiss him, apologetic and gentle for a moment, until Akira bit him pointedly, and laughed as Iwai jerked back in surprise. 

“Little demon,” Iwai said, though he was smirking again as he sucked on his mauled lip. “C’mon then. Do your worst.” 

“You like the clothes?” Akira asked, stroking teasing circles up Iwai’s thighs, close to the bulge in his trousers. 

“Gods, yes,” Iwai growled, his hands slipping up against the back of the chair. 

“Ah-ah. Keep your hands back where they were, or I’ll have to get cuffs. Good.” Akira rewarded Iwai with another, hungry kiss, lollipop-sweet. “So what _do_ you like to do here, Iwai-san?” 

“Didn’t your friend dig up all that dirt on me already?” 

“Not specifics. No cameras in here. Discreet staff.” Akira caught the flesh of Iwai’s ear lightly with his teeth, tugging playfully. “You can tell me,” he whispered, lips pressed to the shell as Iwai shivered. 

“Younger guys,” Iwai said, shaky as Akira nipped down to the gecko tattoo, lapping it lazily. “Ah… college or older. Wasn’t often. Wasn’t complicated. Warm body.” Iwai mouthed against Akira’s ear in return, his voice pitching into a low rumble. “A quick fuck.” 

Akira was glad for the mask: it meant his abrupt flush was hopefully going to pass unnoticed. He did still take a few heartbeats to catch his breath, then he laughed, bracing himself with a gloved hand over Iwai’s shoulder, leaning back to look at him. “Is that what you’re looking for right now?” 

“It doesn’t look like I’m gettin’ to be in charge here.” 

“Good. You understand.” Akira took the lollipop from Iwai’s mouth, tossing it aside, and sat over his thighs, rolling his hips forward as they kissed again, properly this time, urgent and sloppy. Akira was already hard. It wasn’t remotely comfortable, rubbing his trapped cock against Iwai’s, but lust was a closed loop, Iwai trembling under Akira’s gloved hands, ink shifting as muscles bunched tight. 

“C’mon,” Iwai gasped, as Akira nudged his thumbs up over hardening nipples, then he yelped as they were pinched. “ _Akira_.” Akira ignored him, pinching and flicking until Iwai was cursing at him, words skittering into gasps, then moans, as Akira shifted back to lick one, then the other, taking his time to tease. 

Iwai’s self-control finally snapping was marked by a liquid snarl and hands curling over Akira’s hips. Akira laughed as Iwai pushed him off and spun him around, marching him over to the closest wall and pinning him there. Deft fingers managed the buttons of his pants quickly, tugging them down to his knees, and Akira was briefly glad for the split up the back of his coat as warm fingers kneaded his ass and slipped down. 

“Someone got impatient,” Iwai said, pressing a finger into Akira’s slick, stretched hole.

“It’s called being prepared, not impatient.” Akira made a show of moaning as Iwai tried a second finger, and Iwai laughed. 

“Stop that. I know it doesn’t feel _that_ good.” 

“Yet,” Akira said, pointedly pushing his hips back, and Iwai held him still with his free arm, nudging his fingers deeper to the knuckles, testing. 

Despite Akira’s pointed hints and squirming, Iwai was gentle and patient as always, annoyingly so, making sure Akira was ready and close to hissing threats before fumbling with his own clothes and pushing in, a steady and unyielding force, his breaths broken and hot against the nape of Akira’s neck. Akira was sweating into his new clothes, all of it now uncomfortably hot, but he didn’t care, not with Iwai against his back like this, so close that he could feel his heart beating. Iwai bottomed out with a jagged moan. 

“All right so far?” Iwai asked after a while, between gasps. He always asked. 

“I’m getting old waiting.” Akira ground back, reaching over to get a hand against the back of Iwai’s neck, squeezing. Iwai jerked forward, with an oath, then he chuckled and grabbed Akira’s wrist, nuzzling the leather over his palm before nudging Akira’s hand back to his neck. It began with little rolling thrusts, nowhere near satisfying enough, though Iwai ignored Akira’s complaints, his kisses reverent over the back of Akira’s neck, his clothed shoulders, his back. Impatient, Akira took himself in hand, fucking into a tight clench of leather. 

“Shit.” Iwai had noticed. He went still for a moment, his breaths shallow and stuttered, then he muttered something garbled and got his free hand back around Akira’s waist. It was the only warning Akira had before Iwai’s pace turned savage, fucking up into Akira with bitten-off whines, to just the _right_ spot, forcing him to brace himself against the wall with both hands and take it. Ecstasy _burned_. 

“Those _gloves_ ,” Iwai hissed, “fuck, fuck—“ Akira was spurting against the wall, his cry muffled against his sleeve. Iwai groaned, grinding up, twice, another, then he was shuddering, biting down over the back of Akira’s neck. 

They kissed in the shower, Akira sleepy, Iwai quiet, handsy as he washed them both down and got the towels. After, as they dressed, Iwai said, “Uh, hey. My place is probably closer to here than yours. So.” 

“You don’t mind?” Akira asked, before he could stop himself. Iwai blinked and pulled him over, frowning. 

“What, you thought I minded? Shit, that wasn’t… look. You can come over any time.”

“I know.” 

“And I mean, you probably can’t live above a coffee shop forever, so. Someday. Kaoru will move out? And then the apartment ain’t really for one. So.” Iwai sighed, as Akira started grinning, joyous. “That kinda came out way weirder than I meant it.” 

“Only a little,” Akira whispered, leaning up.

20xx 10/25

Ueno Park was busy on a Saturday, but Makoto and Ann had gone early to stake out a section of the grass. Akira handed out bento, settling down beside Iwai, knees touching. Iwai didn’t even flinch, watching the pelicans as he opened his bento box.

“Ann-dono. I missed you _so_ much.” Morgana sighed, then squeaked as Ann giggled and tickled him behind his ears.

“So happy to be back!” Ryuji said, stretching out his hands. “Yatta! We’re back!” 

“Hsst!” Futaba elbowed Ryuji in the ribs. “Your public filter is malfunctioning again, idiot.” 

“That hurt. Sorry, sorry. But. We’re back.” Ryuji’s grin was infectious. 

“Welcome back everyone,” Akira agreed. “We should make a toast.”

“With Calpis? Really?” Iwai prodded one of the tins with his foot. 

“We _could_ have brought alcohol,” Ryuji said, with a pointed stare at Makoto, “but someone said we had to be responsible and it wasn’t even hanami season.” 

“I like Calpis,” Haru said, opening a can with a smile. “Kanpai!”

“I like pelicans,” Yusuke said, watching the lake and ignoring the toast. “Birds are built for flight, a graceful endeavour, and yet they are so ungraceful. Juxtaposition. That is the key. Something that is and is not.” He made a box with his fingers, studying the closest pelican. 

“… Never change, Inari.” Futaba said.

“Ooh! You made your curry,” Ryuji had just opened his box. “Waah. I missed this in Seoul. I missed you guys in Seoul. It sucked.”

“I thought you said you were having fun and all the girls were ‘super pretty and graceful’,” Ann said, raising her eyebrows. 

“Only because _someone_ was going on about all the ‘handsome’ and ‘tall’ guys in New York,” Ryuji muttered. “Japanese guys are mostly short, okay? Nothing we can do about it, okay?” 

They began bickering, even as Makoto tried laughingly to intervene, and while everyone was distracted, Akira snuggled a little closer to Iwai, leaning against him. “All right here?” he asked softly. 

“Yeah. Why not? Free food. Nice weather.” Iwai squeezed his knee briefly. “Your friends are crazy though.” 

_I agree_ , Akechi said, amused. _So what next?_

“What next?” Morgana asked, as though he had heard, and this too was a privilege, to sit together with the people Akira loved most, to write the future together. 

“We’ll see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shinjuku scene inspired by @sighing’s art on twitter. ♥

**Author's Note:**

> Finished! Thanks for reading!  
> \--  
> twitter: manic_intent  
> tumblr: manic-intent


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